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[cattygabriel]

Date: April 11, 2003
Status: Public - Complete
Setting: Library
Summary: Gabriel is 'working'. Feel free to drop by.

There was a light rain outside, and the pitter-patter against the window formed a steady beat to the old Middle Eastern lullaby Gabriel was humming absent-mindedly as he worked. Davidson, Davidson, Davidson... ah, there it is. Now for Nostradamus. Odd man, Nostradamus, though quite amicable. 

He slid the last book into place on its shelf, and made his way back to his desk at the front of the library, picking up his copy* of Mansfield Park and flipping to his place. He pulled the bookmark out, leaned back and relaxed, burying himself in the utter impropriety of Fanny Price's relatives staging a play.

* Personal copy, autographed by Jane Austen herself and in pristine condition.

Comments

[cattygabriel]

"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."

[misterbkeele.livejournal.com]

"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?"

[cattygabriel]

"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."

[stillnotfallen.livejournal.com]

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.

[misterbkeele.livejournal.com]

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."

[stillnotfallen.livejournal.com]

"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."

[misterbkeele.livejournal.com]

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

[stillnotfallen.livejournal.com]

Aziraphale bit his lower lip. "Only about a month," he admitted softly. "But I'm not overly fond of change, really. And my books are still there, you know, and I worry for their safety." He sighed softly and muttered, "And Crowley talked to me then, too."