Aziraphale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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tramitem_log2020-04-01 01:34 am
temptationaccomplished) wrote in tramitem_log2020-04-01 01:34 am
ᴹʀ. ₐ.ᶻ. Fₑˡₗ's Aᴍᴀ𝓏ɪɴ𝓰 Aₚʀᶦʟ ᴇᴠᵉₙᴛ Cₐₜ𝒸ₕ₋ₐₗₗ ₗₒ𝓰
(Well. Not really amazing. I tried.)
Who: Aziraphale/Mr. Fell and OPEN
What: Oot & Aboot. Random encounters of the Aziraphalean kind.
When: April 1st-5th, the Truth or Lie event. Aziraphale is forced to tell the TRUTH.
Where: Various Locations, mostly Manhattan-adjacent since that's where he lives.
Rating/Warnings: Uhhh. ?? Warnings for witchcraft and witchery?
Mr. Fell goes to the NYC Public Library
Armed with his reading glasses, his book-bag, folders for organizing, a legal pad, and change enough for many, many xerox copies, he stationed himself nearest he could to the philosophy and religion sections... And set to work.
In short order, he had amassed a stack of books on various topics surrounding the art, history, mythology, and practices surrounding alchemy and witchcraft in Europe and North America. Several photocopies, post-its, and highlighings later, he had tangented into reading about Matthew Hopkins, about a James Stewart film, and about the definition of a warlock according to current iterations of a fascinating tabletop roleplaying game.
Research was going terrifically. By which I mean it was utterly frustrating.
Memories had led him to believe this was magical in nature, but nothing in any of the books were exactly what he had been doing. He had recreated some of the content[1] onto notes which were cluttering the table. A significant portion of the text wasn't in English, nor Latin, but the word Sundering appeared multiple times. The sigils varied, but there were two repeated independent of anything else in his notes: a simple glyph and a more winding shape doubling back onto itself.
He wasn't sure what Sundering ultimately was, but that appeared to be what he had been trying rather desperately, passionately to do. And he had been trying not to get caught doing it. Which was worrying, because... to sunder, by definition, seemed rather alarming.
(Later he would treat himself to a cupcake at the attached bakery and try not to think too hard about the fact that he was going to try it anyway.)
For now, though, he had his nose turned down to his bag in an urgent search and hadn't even bothered to look up to greet the newest occupant of the table: "Terribly sorry, but I seem to find myself without a pen. May I borrow one of yours?"
Mr. Fell takes a walk (after a truth-telling)
In a moment of undesirable candor, he had admitted that he was NOT sleeping well, had been accosted by men in suits, and was pretty sure he was some kind of wizard in another life.
Bridget laughed. "You've cracked. The paint fumes have finally gone to your head." He would have said more, insisted he wasn't kidding (and why? Why did he feel so suddenly free with this information? To Bridget of all people), but she had waved him off, blowing a stream of smoke from her upturned lower lip before fanning it away. "Get some fresh air, smoke a joint, get laid. Go see a show. Do whatever it is the kids do these days. You'll be fine."
She pushed a cigarette on him despite his protest of: "I haven't in ages," and then snuffed out her own with the toe of her boot.
"Then you're due. Look, I better get back in there, do the rounds, thank them all for attending, et cetera. Like I said, you'll be fine. It's a ...late midlife crisis or something."
Which left Aziraphale alone on the curbside at dusk among the dwindling crowd of gallery attendees, fidgeting with the cigarette and wholly without a lighter or match.
A walk would do him some good.
Mr. Fell goes to the pub
It was late evening and friends had cancelled, so he was alone under the reddish amber glow of the low-ceiling pub, enjoying the atmosphere. It was one of those places that looked like it had history, and did. The building and original establishment pre-dated Aziraphale's own grandfather and had once been a working-man's pub until sometime after Prohibition.
He liked it. The place felt like a pub should: kind of dark, with the smell of old tobacco and aged alcohol and wood. There was a hint of sawdust on the floor. It had billiards. It had ambiance. If it had stopped there, one might have called it charming and quaint...a bit old-fashioned, not unlike Aziraphale himself.
Instead it was cozy, cultural, with posters and flyers from now and ages past; it blurred a line between antique and avante garde. A little seedy, a bit questionable, but not boorish. Intimate but a bit loud. Nothing glitzy or fashionable or cold. Nothing too pretentious or corporate or sleek.
And the bartender wasn't half bad to look at either.
Mr. Fell ____ (Ok, so I didn't want this to get tooooo long and scare people off)
- Goes to lunch! He loves to eat.
- Buys wine! He needs to replenish after that "Mr. Fell Gone Wild" network post last month (T_T)
- Visits the cafe! And searches for a new place to find masterful scones because Anthony made the last place awkward.
- Rides the subway!/Catches a cab! Maybe even rides his bicycle!
- Make your own or suggest a personal starter!
[1] The circles resembled, for lack of easier comparison, something out of a Japanese anime that Aziraphale does not know about, but was widely popular among certain social groups in the mid-to-late 2000s, so we will assume the audience has familiarity with them and won't go into further detail. (Unrelated, but interesting, a purely meta find.)
* (Aziraphale had himself a handful of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances who classified themselves as forms of modern pagans, but aside from what he could get away with asking under the guise of "purely academic inquiry" and small-talk, he was hesitant to divulge to any of his social groups anything about the Bureau or this whole bloody mess he'd found himself wrapped up in. If nothing else, he thought it rather rude to equate whatever ridiculous fiction he had been doing in the memories with the actual practices they performed. Also, respect and prudence aside, he was simply embarrassed. So asking them was rather out of the question, not that any of them would have any idea what a Diatu was.)
Who: Aziraphale/Mr. Fell and OPEN
What: Oot & Aboot. Random encounters of the Aziraphalean kind.
When: April 1st-5th, the Truth or Lie event. Aziraphale is forced to tell the TRUTH.
Where: Various Locations, mostly Manhattan-adjacent since that's where he lives.
Rating/Warnings: Uhhh. ?? Warnings for witchcraft and witchery?
Mr. Fell goes to the NYC Public Library
Armed with his reading glasses, his book-bag, folders for organizing, a legal pad, and change enough for many, many xerox copies, he stationed himself nearest he could to the philosophy and religion sections... And set to work.
In short order, he had amassed a stack of books on various topics surrounding the art, history, mythology, and practices surrounding alchemy and witchcraft in Europe and North America. Several photocopies, post-its, and highlighings later, he had tangented into reading about Matthew Hopkins, about a James Stewart film, and about the definition of a warlock according to current iterations of a fascinating tabletop roleplaying game.
Research was going terrifically. By which I mean it was utterly frustrating.
Memories had led him to believe this was magical in nature, but nothing in any of the books were exactly what he had been doing. He had recreated some of the content[1] onto notes which were cluttering the table. A significant portion of the text wasn't in English, nor Latin, but the word Sundering appeared multiple times. The sigils varied, but there were two repeated independent of anything else in his notes: a simple glyph and a more winding shape doubling back onto itself.
He wasn't sure what Sundering ultimately was, but that appeared to be what he had been trying rather desperately, passionately to do. And he had been trying not to get caught doing it. Which was worrying, because... to sunder, by definition, seemed rather alarming.
(Later he would treat himself to a cupcake at the attached bakery and try not to think too hard about the fact that he was going to try it anyway.)
For now, though, he had his nose turned down to his bag in an urgent search and hadn't even bothered to look up to greet the newest occupant of the table: "Terribly sorry, but I seem to find myself without a pen. May I borrow one of yours?"
Mr. Fell takes a walk (after a truth-telling)
In a moment of undesirable candor, he had admitted that he was NOT sleeping well, had been accosted by men in suits, and was pretty sure he was some kind of wizard in another life.
Bridget laughed. "You've cracked. The paint fumes have finally gone to your head." He would have said more, insisted he wasn't kidding (and why? Why did he feel so suddenly free with this information? To Bridget of all people), but she had waved him off, blowing a stream of smoke from her upturned lower lip before fanning it away. "Get some fresh air, smoke a joint, get laid. Go see a show. Do whatever it is the kids do these days. You'll be fine."
She pushed a cigarette on him despite his protest of: "I haven't in ages," and then snuffed out her own with the toe of her boot.
"Then you're due. Look, I better get back in there, do the rounds, thank them all for attending, et cetera. Like I said, you'll be fine. It's a ...late midlife crisis or something."
Which left Aziraphale alone on the curbside at dusk among the dwindling crowd of gallery attendees, fidgeting with the cigarette and wholly without a lighter or match.
A walk would do him some good.
Mr. Fell goes to the pub
It was late evening and friends had cancelled, so he was alone under the reddish amber glow of the low-ceiling pub, enjoying the atmosphere. It was one of those places that looked like it had history, and did. The building and original establishment pre-dated Aziraphale's own grandfather and had once been a working-man's pub until sometime after Prohibition.
He liked it. The place felt like a pub should: kind of dark, with the smell of old tobacco and aged alcohol and wood. There was a hint of sawdust on the floor. It had billiards. It had ambiance. If it had stopped there, one might have called it charming and quaint...a bit old-fashioned, not unlike Aziraphale himself.
Instead it was cozy, cultural, with posters and flyers from now and ages past; it blurred a line between antique and avante garde. A little seedy, a bit questionable, but not boorish. Intimate but a bit loud. Nothing glitzy or fashionable or cold. Nothing too pretentious or corporate or sleek.
And the bartender wasn't half bad to look at either.
Mr. Fell ____ (Ok, so I didn't want this to get tooooo long and scare people off)
- Goes to lunch! He loves to eat.
- Buys wine! He needs to replenish after that "Mr. Fell Gone Wild" network post last month (T_T)
- Visits the cafe! And searches for a new place to find masterful scones because Anthony made the last place awkward.
- Rides the subway!/Catches a cab! Maybe even rides his bicycle!
- Make your own or suggest a personal starter!
[1] The circles resembled, for lack of easier comparison, something out of a Japanese anime that Aziraphale does not know about, but was widely popular among certain social groups in the mid-to-late 2000s, so we will assume the audience has familiarity with them and won't go into further detail. (Unrelated, but interesting, a purely meta find.)
* (Aziraphale had himself a handful of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances who classified themselves as forms of modern pagans, but aside from what he could get away with asking under the guise of "purely academic inquiry" and small-talk, he was hesitant to divulge to any of his social groups anything about the Bureau or this whole bloody mess he'd found himself wrapped up in. If nothing else, he thought it rather rude to equate whatever ridiculous fiction he had been doing in the memories with the actual practices they performed. Also, respect and prudence aside, he was simply embarrassed. So asking them was rather out of the question, not that any of them would have any idea what a Diatu was.)
no subject
"Sorry."
This was not a very easy word to say but as like with so much else it just tumbled out.
"I know I was against the idea before but... You think we could work together to try and figure all this out?"
"
no subject
He was surprised and pleased at the suggestion. That had been his original hope, back when he first approached Anthony last month, and it was nice to think they might finally be on similar pages here.
"Of course. I'd like that, if you would. Though I am working with a few others from the support group, if you'd like me to introduce you. We're mostly focused on the whole... Bureau thing, but I'd definitely appreciate your help, especially with our shared history."
no subject
He shouldn't have said that but it was the feeling, that warm hopeful, 'we can do something', sort of feeling his past self had been experiencing. It was odd now, how familiar conversations like this felt now.
"Guess I should really meet more of 'us'."
The fork played over his plate, cutting a few bites of food and lining them so that there was enough crepe and salmon to go around.
"You still going to those meetings?"
no subject
He nodded in agreement. Anthony should come meet more of the Different. He'd probably benefit from hearing more stories, from making friends among them.
"Of course I try to. It's not like I intend to abandon new members to figure this all out with just the bureau beside them. I've just...been busy." With work, with examining his own memories. "Sometimes it's hard to find time around other commitments. Would you like to come with me, the next time I go, so you needn't feel so alone?"
And then he made an effort to eat a bit more of his crepe just so as not to stare at Anthony with hopeful puppy eyes over the table.
no subject
"The last time went so well, maybe I could use some one in show me around. You could introduce me to those friends? Keep me away from all attacking folding tables?"
no subject
He laughed. "Yes, I suppose someone will need to defend you from those troublesome tables again, won't they?" He gave a playful, teasing sigh. "Oh, alright. If needs must. For the greater good of all those substandard refreshments."
no subject
"You have a cell phone?"
Anthony held out his hand, because who didn't in this day and age?
"May I borrow it?"
no subject
One had to, these days, for work, since everyone always expected to be able to contact a person at all hours and places ...even if his smartphone was a fair few years old. Plus, he used the phone for the Network, now, with the Different and the Bureau. He had to pat down his coat pocket to find it first, but it was here somewhere. Unless it fell out during the ride, but oh! no, there it was.
Was this that thing people did, when flirting, where one borrowed the phone so that they could put their own number into it? Was Anthony flirting? They had sort of landed in flirtatious territory, hadn't they? Certainly Aziraphale was rusty and off his game a bit. But, god, he hoped it wasn't just him.
"Yes, sure." Aziraphale passed him the cell phone after unlocking the screen, and if his hand lingered a moment longer than was strictly necessary before surrendering the item to Anthony, well, that was nothing. Just didn't want it to fall and break, is all.
no subject
Anthony spoke while he punched in his number.
"I'm putting in my number. You can call me when you want to head over to meet those friends of yours or... if you happen to remember anything. I work 10 to 6 most days."
He finished with a flourish and pressed save. Then handed the device back to its owner.
"You know, I'm rather glad we did this."
no subject
He wished he could offer a more definite schedule, but unfortunately his hours in the studio did tend to range, and he was a bit behind on his current restoration.
"And I'm very glad we did, too. You know, you're really not bad company, when you're not making accusations about me being a hitman."
no subject
"You're never going to let me forget that!"
Even if he paid for lunch? Cause his wallet was in his hand in the next instant and enough cash for both meals was laid out next to the receipt with an added tip for the waiter. He was moving to stand in the next instant, hoping to work down that fine meal with a good stretch.
"Later in the week is fine with me. Give you a lift home?"
no subject
Even if it had been somewhat agreed on that Anthony was paying, he still very much appreciated it. Moreover, he appreciated that Anthony had sought him out again and been willing to talk.
"Thank you," he added, "for the crepes and the company. I, uh," and he wanted to say yes to the offer of a ride, because goodness knows that ended up being an enjoyable experience the first time, but he felt the need to add, "I should say no, because I'm back in Manhattan and I suspect that will take you out of your way. But if you don't mind it, I'd very much like to say yes." He gave the motorcycle a fond glance and, in the understatement of the week, said, "It was fun."
no subject
"I live in the Bronx."
So there were quicker ways to get back home from here but... He could take a different bridge, a few side streets and alleys. It could be an adventure! Besides it was a bright sunny day and how else was Mr. Fell going to get home? Call a cab? They charged a fortune!
"I'll consider it the long way home. I can't leave you stranded out here."
no subject
Of course, the Bronx. The better to be close to the Botanical Gardens, even if that did put Anthony rather far away. "I used to live in the Bronx in the early 90s. Seems like forever ago." Useless trivia, he realized after saying that, but it probably stemmed from a silly desire to find more common ground, more things to share. "Suppose I should go by that way sometime, see how it's changed."
Maybe even stop in at the gardens.
"Oh, that's very kind of you. I really do appreciate it."
no subject
Anthony collected his helmet from his bike seat, working at the straps while he added his own bit of useless trivia. It was all part of the grand getting to know you business.
"I've only lived there, what... two years? Before then I was living with my sister at her Park Avenue place."
It was a strange impulse. They had known each other very briefly, only having spoken twice really, but...
"Do you have to rush home?"
There was this desire to learn more about Mr. Fell, to spend more time with him, and the question tumbled out before the feeling could fade.
"I've been in the area for a while but it sounds like you have lived in the city a lot longer. I'm sure there are hidden gems you could show me? If you have the time?"
He shrugged as he gave Mr. Fell an 'out' in case he wasn't feeling up to a sight seeing tour with a complete stranger.
"It's fine if you don't. I'll still drop you by your place."