#holysent

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐃𝐀𝐘, 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀-𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍' 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑 ... the record spoke its quiet melody and filled the lamplit shelves, long after hours. the distant click of designer soles announced his approach. ' it's late, angel. ' there was more nestled behind those words - you work too hard, you ought to rest, you know how i worry. all of it bitten back in favour of action ; a fresh mug of hot cocoa set adjacent aziraphale's right hand. their own hand curled about the angel's shoulder ... a passing touch that fled in an instant. ' - drink up. '

shoes kicked off, jacket shed. they settled like a feline upon the sofa, draped long and languid across the cushions. ' any more clues? i've about had my fill of jim ... wanted me to TUCK HIM IN tonight, you know. '

     The place is deserted. Ebony expected little else in the way of customers at noon in the middle of the week. She had been prepared to be instantly approached by an overly friendly store clerk, purely out of experience. Instead, there's just the distant, indiscernible notes of music drifting out from somewhere deeper inside the space. Her eyes fall on a bell beside an outdated-looking till, but she doesn't reach out to ring it yet.

     The bustle of bodies in London is different from New York, the crowds don't feel like home, but now that she's finally standing still in this cluttered mess of a bookshop the Demon feels oddly at ease. The traveling must be taking its toll more than she thought, because her mind can't help but offer the intense desire to just sit down with a mug of hot chocolate and read, quest be damned.

     Finally, Ebony sets her thoughts aside and rings the bell. A worker appears moments later, and just from the look of them she quickly decides that this has to be the owner of the whole place. If not, then they should be.