Lower Tadfield Safehouse

Aziraphale laughed. "A very high ledge, behind both bulletproof glass and a warding circle, and a couple of miles away. We can use a pair of binoculars. I'm sure we won't miss much."

Aziraphale merely nodded; paranoia and demons seemed to go hand-in-hand, like coffee and chocolate, or salt and eggs.

He gnawed on his lower lip at that. "I'd considered that already," he admitted. "But it simply doesn't make sense. The confederate bit, that is. Not with whom I've been associating with, anyway." Barnaby seemed to be estranged from his coworkers, after all, and Crowley seemed to have been sleeping the entire time they had been here. "I imagine he's trying to lull me, as you said. That makes sense. I merely wanted a second opinion, that's all, dear. Thank you."

He gave him a thankful smile, to hopefully assuage some of the awkwardness.

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"Sounds like a plan," he agreed.

Barnaby gave an embarrassed cough, not quite sure what to do with this kind of trust. "No problem," he said. "Ours not to reason why, I suppose."

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Oh, demons. They were all so cute, so long as they weren't plotting your untimely demise. "I understand," he said fondly. "You've met my superiors, after all. Just because they're not as sneaky about it doesn't mean they're not equally as unhinged."

Aziraphale wondered if Gabriel could hear him and if he would see it for the half-joke it was.

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Gabriel, of course, could hear them perfectly fine; they weren't that far, the library was otherwise silent, and as an angel he had good hearing. He'd stayed silent and tried not to eavesdrop; but couldn't help it when Aziraphale mentioned his superiors.

"It takes one to know one, Aziraphael!" he called, smiling.

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"They're also quite witty," Aziraphale said fondly. "Why, I believe next he'll call me glue, and himself rubber."

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"And so, the heretofore-unknown latex content of ethereal entities is revealed," he said, in a murmur that was clearly intended to carry. He immediately regretted it: Aziraphale was one thing, but making digs on a high-ranking member of * was a idiotic idea, even here.

*Pronounced exactly that way, except perhaps in Gothic script.

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"Come now, I doubt you smell that bad, or are as hard to get rid of. And I'm not sure I'm that flexible." Gabriel had to suppress a laugh at Barnaby's comment. "Not synthetic, I hope."

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Aziraphale chuckled, appreciative of his superior's sense of humour. "Actually, humans love the smell of glue." Not to mention they used it as an inhalant, but that was neither here nor there. "I've been told I smell like old books and lavender. A particularly... sensitive man once said I smelled like he imagined Heaven smelled." Aziraphale grimaced at the memory. "And then he dropped dead of a heart attack. Knocked over Paradise Regained, ironically enough."

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Gabriel blinked. "But glue smells... disgusting, to say the least. The one Ms Hodges uses, at least."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That's nice, though I didn't realise sniffing each other was something humans still did. And let me see; he smelt you, and then dropped dead? Oh dear."

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"Parchment glue smells all right as it usually is accompanied by leather, or old paper," he said fondly. He liked the scent, when he could smell it over the dust.

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. "Gabriel dear," he said calmly, "by 'sensitive' I meant he was quite the loony. Such people tend to die young as well, especially as this particular bloke was extremely sensitive; those people will recognize I'm an angel and die of divine ecstacy. It's affirmation, after all."

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"Well, the one here is..." Gabriel paused to pull the little white-and-yellow tube out of the stationery drawer in his desk, "something called UHU." He wrinkled his nose. "I agree that old paper smells nice, though." He loved old books too, loved the smell and texture and workmanship.

He remembered the type of people Aziraphael was referring to. "Ah. I thought you simply meant he was mildly psychic."

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"There's superglue, which smells like a chemical factory," he offered. "And if humans didn't sniff each other, there wouldn't be a market for colognes and soaps and aromatherapy." The spark of paranoia had settled, but Barnaby knew it hadn't gone, just retreated to a corner of his mind to kick back on a sofa with a drink.

He shook the metaphor from his head. He really needed to get out more.

Meanwhile, the relations between the angels were straining just a little. The anthropomorphized paranoia sat up at this, and started listening intently. Outside of his head, Barnaby flicked through his book and only said, "Ah? I try not to run into those people. Are there many in your neck of the woods?"

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"Ah, yes. Though sometimes those scents can be a little overwhelming." Gabriel remembered a party he'd been dragged to by a mortal acquaintance about a century ago; at the dinner table he'd been sandwiched between two rather... large women wearing very strong perfumes. The option of not breathing was unavailable as breath was necessary to make conversation, so he'd spent dinner sitting stiffly and trying very hard not to sneeze, wrinkle his nose, wince or do anything impolite.

"Yes," he answered. "I've always considered it both blessing and curse; it can't be very pleasant, being barraged with such knowledge."

Edited Date: Thursday, 4 March 2010 08:00 (UTC)

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Aziraphale chuckled at Barnaby's question. "Dear, I live in Soho. Half of my customers are 'those people.'" Then his smile faded. "'Like attracts like,' as Crowley used to say." He sighed.

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He cocked his head. "Which of them are in Soho? The mad ones or the clairvoyant ones? Not that I've seen that much difference between the two, after a while."

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"Both," said Aziraphale wistfully, feeling very nostalgic. "But primarily the mad ones, and the mad ones who think they're clairvoyant. Soho is an interesting place."

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Barnaby raised an eyebrow. "You miss it, don't you? Mad clairvoyants and all. How long've you been away?"

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