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Mar. 3rd, 2005 12:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyThis needs to be fiddled with. So any constructive criticism would be most gratefully received.
Discorporate
There had been a slight incident with a pterodactyl.
As far as he’d been able to hear, before everything had faded to a rather painful black, the man at the Museum had been terribly apologetic, which he had been rather pleased about. It was nice to know that standards were being maintained in some small way. It was small comfort, however, as he sat in the Waiting Room.
Or, at least, he would have been sitting, had he had a body. That was rather the point of the exercise.
There was no way of knowing precisely how crowded the space was, but there was a low susurrus of disembodied conversation from all around, and some distinctly outraged sounding remarks centering on one point that seemed to be heading in his direction. There was only really one thing it could be down to.
“There are worse things you can lose than your body, pal, remember that!”
He couldn't quite keep the pleasure out of his voice.
“Hello, Crowley. I’m surprised to see you here.”
"Been in Iraq. This sort of thing tends to happen, over there." The demon's voice was overly casual. "I'm surprised you didn't notice sooner."
"I'd thought you were still upset at me over the Bentley." There was a pained sounding hiss, over to his left. "It wouldn't be the first time you'd sulked, you know."
"Yeah, well, anyway. What happened to you?"
"Pterodactyl."
"…sorry?"
"Pterodactyl. Huge flying bugger, you remember."
Crowley's voice was dubious. "Angel, are you… alright?"
He tutted. "Of course I'm not alright, Crowley, I died. You do remember where we are, I take it?"
"Well yes, but… you claim to have been attacked by a pterodactyl…"
"Oh Heavens, don't be ridiculous. No, no. This was in the British Museum." There was a pause, then a muffled snigger. "Oh hush."
Crowley voice was slightly choked, when he replied. "Only you, Aziraphale, I swear."
It was amazing how accurately a disgruntled expression could be conjured up by dint of sheer outraged silence. Eventually, the demon calmed himself. Aziraphale thought for a moment.
"What are you doing here in any case, my dear? Surely one of us is in the wrong place?"
"Yeah, you'd have thought so, wouldn't you? But apparently this is the place for all this kind of thing. Discorporate angels and demons, exorcised ghosts, humans waiting for reincarnation, all that stuff."
There was a thoughtful silence, as they listened to the conversations taking place around them.
"But surely… I mean, you could end up talking to anyone. As if we were all-"
"-the same." Crowley's voice sounded odd. "Makes you think, eh?"
There was the slightest suggestion of warmth, where his fingers should be.
Discorporate
There had been a slight incident with a pterodactyl.
As far as he’d been able to hear, before everything had faded to a rather painful black, the man at the Museum had been terribly apologetic, which he had been rather pleased about. It was nice to know that standards were being maintained in some small way. It was small comfort, however, as he sat in the Waiting Room.
Or, at least, he would have been sitting, had he had a body. That was rather the point of the exercise.
There was no way of knowing precisely how crowded the space was, but there was a low susurrus of disembodied conversation from all around, and some distinctly outraged sounding remarks centering on one point that seemed to be heading in his direction. There was only really one thing it could be down to.
“There are worse things you can lose than your body, pal, remember that!”
He couldn't quite keep the pleasure out of his voice.
“Hello, Crowley. I’m surprised to see you here.”
"Been in Iraq. This sort of thing tends to happen, over there." The demon's voice was overly casual. "I'm surprised you didn't notice sooner."
"I'd thought you were still upset at me over the Bentley." There was a pained sounding hiss, over to his left. "It wouldn't be the first time you'd sulked, you know."
"Yeah, well, anyway. What happened to you?"
"Pterodactyl."
"…sorry?"
"Pterodactyl. Huge flying bugger, you remember."
Crowley's voice was dubious. "Angel, are you… alright?"
He tutted. "Of course I'm not alright, Crowley, I died. You do remember where we are, I take it?"
"Well yes, but… you claim to have been attacked by a pterodactyl…"
"Oh Heavens, don't be ridiculous. No, no. This was in the British Museum." There was a pause, then a muffled snigger. "Oh hush."
Crowley voice was slightly choked, when he replied. "Only you, Aziraphale, I swear."
It was amazing how accurately a disgruntled expression could be conjured up by dint of sheer outraged silence. Eventually, the demon calmed himself. Aziraphale thought for a moment.
"What are you doing here in any case, my dear? Surely one of us is in the wrong place?"
"Yeah, you'd have thought so, wouldn't you? But apparently this is the place for all this kind of thing. Discorporate angels and demons, exorcised ghosts, humans waiting for reincarnation, all that stuff."
There was a thoughtful silence, as they listened to the conversations taking place around them.
"But surely… I mean, you could end up talking to anyone. As if we were all-"
"-the same." Crowley's voice sounded odd. "Makes you think, eh?"
There was the slightest suggestion of warmth, where his fingers should be.
