☼ i'm soft ☼

                          Purveyor of Antiquarian & Unusual Books

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         . I shall be at the desk should you require any assistance .

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// Apologies for my complete haywire activity over the past few months. I’ve got so much going on with trying to get my life and work in shape while everything is in tatters from the pandemic. As much as I miss writing here, its just not my priority rn. 

I’ll be in and out but unfortunately, I can’t really promise any more consistency going forward; trying to kickstart a career in the current climate is a full time job in itself. 

Everyone stay safe and take care! 

Of course Oliver didn’t want to go into the actual, full-blown details about Peter and why he chose to do as he did. Then again, in a way, if he did then that very well could have made him more of a hypocrite himself. The Brit knew that what he was doing was seen as more selfish and that he technically shouldn’t have done it being who and what he was, but he was far more suited for this sort of ground work. That, and he would go if he needed to and have cover for while he was gone.

“Well, I may very well have to take you up sometime now should I? You have probably noticed that I practically live here, a lot of my time goes to this little place but I may just have to sneak off one afternoon and come take a look around. And as for your friend… You could always tell me what his favorite is.” Replying with a cheeky grin of his own, leaning forward onto the counter and resting on his crossed arms.

“You could take it to him, and if he likes it, maybe then you can convince him to come in for some tea and have yourselves a cozy little afternoon. You might have to fight for a table some days when some of my Uni or high school students come through to study, but I’m sure I could rustle up something. Though, judging from that chap’s appearance I’m not sure if he would like the color choice all that much here. Might be a little too… Pastel for him.”

That fleeting look on Aziraphale’s face didn’t escape Oliver, though he wasn’t going to ask about it as much as his curiosity tried to get the better of him. “Well, between you and me, I do all of the baking and cooking. Arthur, goodness knows I love him, but I swear he can look at water and it would catch on fire.”

The Brit perked while the other gentleman spoke about his bookshop, straightening back up with that bright twinkle returning to his eyes. “I’ve admittedly at one point thought about opening a bookshop myself, but my skills far more lie in the kitchen and of course if you ever wished to learn, I have been toying with the idea of offering classes.”

However once the other man held out his hand and he gave his own introduction, his smile widened before gladly accepting and returning the firm handshake. “It truly is such a pleasure to finally actually put a name to a face of a man that I’ve been seeing sneaking about and looking through my windows.”

“Of course, whenever you need,” he said earnestly and started fumbling around in his pockets. 

“Let me give you my card, it has my telephone number on it. That way you can reach me without having to come in person if you can’t or don’t wish to, er- ah, there’s the little devil!” He grinned at having finally found it, stuffed to the bottom of his inner blazer pocket. It was a small piece of gold-bordered cardboard, with the shop’s name and contact information written in a slightly smudged font that bore an eery resemblance to the characters found on an antique typewriter. “I’m only a telephone call away, should you need anything. I understand that many seem to prefer telephones nowadays,” he added somewhat nervously.

He thought for a moment after Oliver had enquired after the tastes of his friend. “Well, he’s never been all that interested in food really, let alone sweets. He doesn’t mind it of course but its not usually something to draw him in...” He tapped a tune on his cheek as he thought hard. Crowley had always more interested in...

“...drinks!” He said out-loud, his face lighting up. “I don’t suppose you serve coffee, do you? He likes those small ones; espresso! That’ll probably bring him in.” And then once he was in, perhaps Aziraphale could persuade him into trying something more? He was forever going out of his way in attempts to make Crowley appreciate the many wonders of food. It was oftentimes in vain but that would never stop Aziraphale from trying. “I think it would be lovely, afternoon tea in a bakery I’ve so longed to visit. That’s it, I have decided; I must find a way to persuade him! Furthermore, it sounds to me like he and your attended would get along famously,” he added with a smirk.

“A cookery class? Oh, that would be delightful! I should certainly love to attend. I’ve never really done much baking with other people around. What fun it would be!” That and there was in him a tinge of eagerness to show off but he kept that sinful little thought to himself.

“Oh, hush!” He said, Oliver’s remark making him blush. “I was merely trying to resist temptation, although I think now, after all you’ve described, you may have just gone and ruined all that,” he joked, smiling as he gestured around the room, offering Oliver the option to make himself at home. 

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. “Never bothered to read them. Not for real,” he admitted with an exaggeratedly non-caring shrug. He didn’t care much for Seneca, nor for the man’s works, but he would have been lying if he had said that he wasn’t making his act bigger just because he knew that it would have annoyed Aziraphale.

The Principality’s next statement gained him a half-hearted glare from the Serpent. “I know that my kin isn’t exactly known to have good tastes, but I like to think that I’m an exception to that rule.” And to many others, but that wasn’t the point. “So, yes, Seneca was an old, rambling politician with far too conservative ideas that could have disrupted the progress of many souls, but he was boring. First and foremost.”

The angel’s admission that he had actually saw Terminator caused the demon’s eyebrows to shoot up in surprise, even if the hint of wonderous enthusiasm that had started to bubble in his chest was quickly dampened by his Adversary’s utterly negative review of the movie.

“Angel, it’s an action movie. The plot doesn’t really matter that much. It’s all about the huge, flashy special effects and fast-paced chases and fights and good-looking humans showing off curves and muscles!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “And in any case the story is pretty simple. It’s all about this Terminator, a cyborg assassin who’s sent back in time to kill the female lead because in the future her son will save mankind from extinction by a hostile artificial intelligence. What’s not to understand in that?”

He hung his head slightly with a groan. Maybe Aziraphale had a point. Modern stuff just wasn’t for him and the Serpent was wasting his time trying to convince him to embrace the wonders of progress.

Rolling his eyes, he let his head fall over the top of the sofa, admitting defeat…at least for today. “Exactly! They never bother to check anyway. I’m pretty sure Hastur doesn’t even know how to read a receipt, so it’s really just a formality in any case. But better safe than sorry, right?”

Their superior might be disinterested, but they weren’t stupid, with some exceptions. They couldn’t afford to tip them off even just a little, because it would have meant losing the freedom they had been enjoying in the last few millennia.

“I’d gladly toast to my next assignment to be in the Caribbeans or something like that,” he claimed then, reaching out for the decanter. He pour two generous glass and handed one to Aziraphale. “Assuming that I survive Alaska.”

Aziraphale sighed. 

“Well, maybe if you try reading a proper book, I’ll try to watch one of these ‘action movies’ you seem to enjoy so much,” he looked dismissively at his fingernails yet the unmistakable tug of a grin drew at his lip. This bargain had been proposed half in jest but he was nevertheless willing to give it a go. Perhaps it would help him understand the serpent and his peculiar tastes a bit better. Maybe even vice versa.

“I suppose one can appreciate the effort that goes into such things, even they are completely meaningless,” he conceded, referring to the aforementioned flashy special effects, oblivious as to how backhanded the admission likely sounded. “And yes, dear. I suppose a certain amount of effort must also go into looking such a way as well,” he spoke in a thoughtful sigh, recalling images of both the male and female leads (whose names he had forgotten) with Crowley’s mention of the featuring curves and muscles. “I know there have been folks looking that way for millennia but nowadays, in this culture and what with day-to-day life being so different, I do wonder how such a thing is even possible...” he mused, thinking on it for a moment before slapping his knees cheerily as if to cast those questions away.

“Anywho, perhaps we can better educate one another on our trip together!” He had decided that he didn’t mind that thought, not one bit; settling down on a comfortable sofa to watch a cinematic film, in a warm cabin with a cup of cocoa, snow drifting past the window. Who knows? With such comforts, he may even enjoy watching what folks these days would refer to as a ‘blockbuster’ or something of the like. And with a certain serpent there to explain the things he didn’t understand, of course. That would probably help.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, dear. I’m sure we’ll have a lovely time ruining each other’s plans. And if it will help raise your spirits, I’ll make a promise to inform you immediately should an opportunity to thwart me within a more tolerable climate arise,” he grinned and clinked his glass against Crowley’s.

“Well, I’ve been in far more uncomfortable places in far worse condition than a roadside after an accident, but I certainly am not going to say no to the promise of a chair and tea. I should be alright to walk, I think. A few bruises won’t stop me.” In fact, he barely noticed the ache, but he that was normal. After an hour or two with Mr. Fell he knew his body would be demanding his attention much more insistently.

“Well then, Mr. Fell, lead the way. Your car should be alright here, provided you get it towed soon. Besides, if you do get into any legal trouble, I can get you out easily. All it takes is knowing that most people don’t particularly care to be doing paperwork on any given day. For little things like an illegally parked car - and a damaged one to boot - they’re much more likely to drop the issue if they think you’ll only create paperwork for them,” he said with a smile and a confidential wink. As they started walking back to the shop, Nahyuta’s phone rang.

“Oh. Excuse me, Mr. Fell, this is my brother. Hello, Apollo…Well enough, though this is a bit of an awkward time…I happened to be hit by a car as I was crossing the street, but before you panic-” Too late.

“WHAAAAAT?!” came through loud and clear on the other side of the phone, a voice that was firm and confident, the kind of voice that could be heard even in normal situations.

“I’m fine, Apollo, a few bruises, nothing more. I’m not even going to miss my upcoming trial…I’m fine, Apollo, no need to stress…Yes, I’m fine…I’m fine, Apollo, for the last time. The gentleman has even offered me tea, would he have done so if my life were in any danger? …I’m always right, Apollo…Yes…I’ll call you after the trial…I love you too, Apollo. Goodbye.” He put his phone away.

“Forgive me, I promised my brother I’d always pick up the phone. He worries about me, perhaps a little too much.”

“Oh, well, thank heavens for that,” Aziraphale murmured absently, quite eager to get away from the now extremely irritable crowds he had created. “Come along then, dear, let’s get away from all these prying eyes.” It was all he could do to keep himself from bustling poor Nahyuta along. In fact, it was only the mention of legal trouble that prevented the careless action.

“Legal trouble?! Oh dear, you don’t think it’s likely, do you? That won’t look good...that won’t look good at all...” he mused, turning quite pale at the thought. If such a thing were to happen, Earthly courts would be the very least of his worries. There would be far higher powers cracking the whip over his head, even if it did all just boil down to paperwork. 

This thought was cut short too by the ringing of Nahyuta’s phone, a sound that made Aziraphale jump after having been so engrossed in his momentary internal panic. He nodded and timidly stepped back to give Nahyuta some privacy, returning instead to feeling self-conscious about the lengthy trail of angry London motorists he had left behind.

He had been about to give a half-hearted ‘hello’ in return, until the yell broke through that tiny, tin-like speaker. His stomach dropped for what must have been the millionth time that day. He would be glad to see the sun set on this one...

He twiddled his thumbs when Nahyuta hung up the phone and looked bashful.

“Off? Well, alright is quite… Um… A broad term when it comes to that boy. I never quite know where his head is at nor where he disappears off when he goes off on his little… Escapades.” A heavy sigh soon followed his words, Oliver shaking his head at the mere thought. Peter had disappeared again, to where, he really didn’t have any sort of clue. As for being off… The Brit had some inkling as to what it might be that was ‘off’ so to speak.

Though the question arose however, did this man potentially have the same sort of feeling about him as well?

“Goodness, I really don’t mind it at all! I have folks like yourself peering into my windows all the time so I’m quite used to it though, I tend to see you far more frequently than others. I’ve been beginning to wonder as to why you hadn’t come in yet, and I can tell you now as well, I give you my word that I wouldn’t speak a word of it to your friend.” His grin grew cheeky in return, teasingly holding a finger to his lips. He had to admit, there was something enticingly naughty about this idea.

Even more so, he frequently wondered what these two chaps were to one another given just how close they seemed to be.

“Oh– My yes he is! Arthur was actually the one who got me this space not long after we started dating… We renovated it together, I more so think that it was because he wanted to see me actually follow through with something that was clearly so important to me and–…My god where are my manners? I haven’t introduced myself… Have I? My name is Oliver Kirkland, I am so sorry dear– I suppose I just got so caught up in our conversation that it must have simply slipped my mind!”

“I see,” said Aziraphale in the voice of somebody who didn’t see at all. He was curious about Peter and even though he had only met the boy once, he nevertheless felt compelled to help him in some way, if such a thing were at all possible. But what with the other’s continued vagueness, he was begging to get the feeling of overstaying his welcome in the subject. Understandable. He barely knew the young lad after all.

“Well, if there’s I can do, you know where to find me. I’m in the shop most days and I’m a very light sleeper. You’re both most welcome to drop by or dial me on the telephone at any time of the day, should you ever need anything.” Yes, that was a suitable ultimatum, he thought.

Oliver playing along with the whole secretly sneaking into the bakery scenario rose a giggle. “Oh yes, absolutely! And I certainly appreciate your discretion,” he smirked and waved a hand. “Perhaps I may even persuade him to come in with me one day and such secrecy will no longer be necessary. He always turns his nose up at such things; he really doesn’t know what he’s missing!” He grinned at that thought, an expression that warmed with Oliver’s further description of his betrothed. He would have felt a deep pang of envy, if only he would allow himself.

“Oh, how lovely for you both! It must be wonderful, just the two of you doing what you love, no others watching or scrutinising,” he looked momentarily wistful before grappling up his grin. “I would love to have opened my very own bakery but I acquired so many books over the years- well, I suppose I had to go down that route. Not that I’m complaining, of course! Not sure I could be happier anywhere other than a room full of well stocked bookshelves. And baking is still a regular hobby of mine, although I’m not sure I’d even come to close to matching your skill!” 

It was perhaps a blessing that Oliver halted that trail with his sudden introduction. Aziraphale, not used having someone around to speak to on the subject of common interests, could easily have launched into a long-winded ramble.

Crowley have Aziraphale a long inquisitive look when the angel asked him if he was a fan of Seneca’s, as to try and grasp whether the other was pulling his leg. Of course, as it so very often happened, that wasn’t the case. His Adversary had simply jumped the conclusion that made the most sense to him, for his lifestyle and interests, even if it also happened to be the more unlikely one considering that it was the Serpent they were talking about.

“No, angel. I’m not a fan of Seneca…Didn’t like him in person, don’t like him now that he’s dead. And no, I haven’t been snatching your books behind your back to read them,” he replied with a heavy sigh, hardly stopping himself from letting his head fall back to underline his exasperation. “You know that reading isn’t really my thing. I do, from time to time, but the works of some old rambling politician are hardly the kind of stuff I pick in those rare occasions.”

My Lord Satan, give me strength, were the words that almost left his mouth. He bit them back at the last moment, though, because invoking the Devil wasn’t a good thing in general and doing it while in the company of an angel was even worse.

“I know that quote because…Oh, come on, angel! Everyone knows it! It’s like…” He let his words trail off and cleared his throat, to speak the next sentence in a deeper voice. “Come with me if you want to live.” He raised both his eyebrows at the Principality. “Terminator? The movie with the robotic assassin from the future? Ring any bells?”

He was pursuing yet another hopeless cause, wasn’t he? He should know better, after six thousands years of friendship.

Not to dig his own grave even further, he decided to let slide both the issue of his nonexistent soul, because, no matter what Aziraphale might have said or thought, he did not have one, and his Adversary’s still obvious lack of understanding for anything that concerned the internet and related matters. It was not worth the trouble of continuing that discussion.

“Angel, as…ah, convenient as sharing a cabin would be, we can’t possibly do that. Not officially,” he pointed out instead as the Principality got up to fetch him the drink he had requested. Calling such an idea ‘convenient’ didn’t even start to cover what cohabiting with his Adversary would have meant to him. It would have turned an unwelcome job into a holiday of sort and, while he refused to think that it would have been enough to bring him to appreciate Alaska, it would have surely made his staying in the country much more tolerable. Bordering pleasant, even.

“It’s too much of a risk…I mean, what if my superiors or yours show up to…check in on how our respective missions are going?” He finished, and his tone said exactly how much he loathed that undeniable truth. “Even I would have some problem coming up for an explanation for why we are using the same living quarters.”

He paused for a moment, a pensive frown touching his face. “But maybe we could book two cabins and use just one of them. To avoid having to offer too many explanations while still being able to…ah, thwart each other more easily.”

Crowley nodded to himself, deciding that he liked that plan of his. They would have used the Principality’s place, of course.

“Oh, I think that a good bottle is exactly what my battered mood needs,” he claimed then, clapping his hands. “Bring it out, angel!”

“Well, I wouldn’t really blame you for not being a fan of him per se but his plays and literature are quite marvellous, don’t you think?” He asked this question hopefully, although was already starting to feel deflated. Just when he thought that maybe Crowley had come to appreciate the brilliance of literature... He huffed in an admission of defeat and rested his cheek clumsily in his palm. “Well, you are a demon. I would have thought you would be well inclined to adore individuals such as Seneca; old, rambling politicians ought to be your forte,” he mumbled carelessly.

This was followed by a scoff from Crowley’s Terminator reference. “I did see that one, actually,” he said a trifle testily, although he was actually being truthful this time, “but I didn’t watch it all because it was not only spiritless but positively horrid! And it didn’t make any sense,” he added, as if also irritated by the fact that he hadn’t really understood it. “There’s no wonder I can’t fit in nowadays if that’s what folks deem worthy of popularity.”

Crowley’s reasoning as to why they couldn’t possibly share accommodation in Alaska brought Aziraphale back into the present. “Oh...yes, no, of course. You’re absolutely right, dear boy, that was quite silly of me”, he seemed unable to mask his disappointment, despite knowing full well it was an impossible possibility. He was also a little embarrassed at having suggested it. 

He distracted from the issue by rummaging awkwardly through his vast variety of fine crystal spirit glasses. But when Crowley broke the silence with a proposed solution, Aziraphale’s head popped out from within the cabinet. He looked thoughtful, a grin slowly turning up the corners of his lips. 

“My dear boy...that really is rather good! I mean, they would never know, would they? How could they? And it certainly would make thwarting a great deal easier,” he chuckled. 

Suddenly feeling quite optimistic, he was able to find the correct glasses with ease and placed them down on the coffee table, closely followed by the decanter of aged rum and the unopened bottle of malt whiskey.