(no subject)
Jun. 17th, 2006 03:37 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
a-fell.livejournal.comThere are Things Going On, but there are always things going on for someone. Every day is a day of great import, although not necessarily for you, so why waste the sun when it's so determined to shine and nothing new has turned up?
Aziraphael's spent the day running various errands that ought to be run, Sorting Out various things that Needed Sorting, and once that was done (thoroughly but, significantly, quickly) spent the remainder of the sunlight on a bench in St James' Park with a book.
There's no sunlight left but plenty of book - it's always so helpful to carry a spare, and the pockets in tweed are capacious - so he settles himself in a corner with a cup of tea and a Stoppard play, giggling faintly to himself every now and again as he flips through the pages.
If you're wanting him for conversation, of course, it's really quite alright. He's read it before.
[OOM For The Record: This is going to be Aziraphael's last entrance post in... an indetermined amount of time, but somewhere in the region of two to three months if all goes according to plan. Hopefully won't be longer. There will be no slowtimes resulting from this post since I'm afraid I simply haven't time; that said, tags are welcomed and very very much appreciated.]
Aziraphael's spent the day running various errands that ought to be run, Sorting Out various things that Needed Sorting, and once that was done (thoroughly but, significantly, quickly) spent the remainder of the sunlight on a bench in St James' Park with a book.
There's no sunlight left but plenty of book - it's always so helpful to carry a spare, and the pockets in tweed are capacious - so he settles himself in a corner with a cup of tea and a Stoppard play, giggling faintly to himself every now and again as he flips through the pages.
If you're wanting him for conversation, of course, it's really quite alright. He's read it before.
[OOM For The Record: This is going to be Aziraphael's last entrance post in... an indetermined amount of time, but somewhere in the region of two to three months if all goes according to plan. Hopefully won't be longer. There will be no slowtimes resulting from this post since I'm afraid I simply haven't time; that said, tags are welcomed and very very much appreciated.]
(no subject)
Apr. 22nd, 2006 04:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thecoolone( OOM: a few moments earlier )
When the door opens, Bill's face falls: he hadn't meant to come here.
He hadn't meant it at all; turning again, he decides to simply suck it up and go straight back to Fleur. If it's not an apology he owes her, it's at the very least a discussion. He can be man enough to do that.
The problem, though, is that the door doesn't seem to want to open for him. A trick of the lock, perhaps; wand drawn, he taps it. "Alohomora." Still, the door doesn't open.
"Fuck!" He pushes it and pulls it, kicks it and swears at it, but it won't budge.
"Of all the times... damn! This isn't funny. It's not fair." Again he tries the door but like it or not, it won't open for him. "Fuck!"
It's a very useful word. Racing to the bar, he gets writing supplies and dashes off a brief note: Fleur, I'm at the bar. I can't leave. Door won't open. I'm sorry. I love you. Bill. He offers up a quick prayer, though he's not a prayerful person, and sends it off with one of the bar owls.
"Fuck." Once more for good measure: "Fuck."
With that, he turns and heads upstairs. At least he's got a room here.
At least he didn't get sent back to the Death Eaters. And at the moment, Bill's very thankful for small favours.
When the door opens, Bill's face falls: he hadn't meant to come here.
He hadn't meant it at all; turning again, he decides to simply suck it up and go straight back to Fleur. If it's not an apology he owes her, it's at the very least a discussion. He can be man enough to do that.
The problem, though, is that the door doesn't seem to want to open for him. A trick of the lock, perhaps; wand drawn, he taps it. "Alohomora." Still, the door doesn't open.
"Fuck!" He pushes it and pulls it, kicks it and swears at it, but it won't budge.
"Of all the times... damn! This isn't funny. It's not fair." Again he tries the door but like it or not, it won't open for him. "Fuck!"
It's a very useful word. Racing to the bar, he gets writing supplies and dashes off a brief note: Fleur, I'm at the bar. I can't leave. Door won't open. I'm sorry. I love you. Bill. He offers up a quick prayer, though he's not a prayerful person, and sends it off with one of the bar owls.
"Fuck." Once more for good measure: "Fuck."
With that, he turns and heads upstairs. At least he's got a room here.
At least he didn't get sent back to the Death Eaters. And at the moment, Bill's very thankful for small favours.
(no subject)
Apr. 22nd, 2006 12:00 amleplusbeau[OOM: Millitimed to yesterday, there was sweet and happy. Bill and Fleur talk and plan for things, life, and bebe.
Today, the shit hits the fan. There is a first time for everything. Even fights.]
Today, the shit hits the fan. There is a first time for everything. Even fights.]
(no subject)
Apr. 9th, 2006 03:18 ama-fell.livejournal.comAziraphael and Crowley spent much of the afternoon in the British Museum, arguing quietly (about art, Michelangelo, aesthetics of nudity and any number of subjects, related or no) and knowledgeably enough that by the time they were done they'd unwittingly - at least on Aziraphael's part - gathered quite the audience.
The angel had insisted - eyeing the long communal tables with something very like distaste - that they go elsewhere for tea, which had evolved quickly into Crowley taunting Aziraphael with cream buns, which had led to another argument; Lent, this time. And whether Jesus would have sung a different tune vis a vis temptation, had the cities of the world included London. And sushi bars.
This had, naturally, pointed them in the direction of raw fish and sake, which had led them - by somewhat meandering routes - to the door of the bar.
Crowley heads directly over to order some drinks, and Aziraphael takes a seat at their usual table and beams good-naturedly at the various patrons.
It's been a good day.
The angel had insisted - eyeing the long communal tables with something very like distaste - that they go elsewhere for tea, which had evolved quickly into Crowley taunting Aziraphael with cream buns, which had led to another argument; Lent, this time. And whether Jesus would have sung a different tune vis a vis temptation, had the cities of the world included London. And sushi bars.
This had, naturally, pointed them in the direction of raw fish and sake, which had led them - by somewhat meandering routes - to the door of the bar.
Crowley heads directly over to order some drinks, and Aziraphael takes a seat at their usual table and beams good-naturedly at the various patrons.
It's been a good day.
(no subject)
Apr. 8th, 2006 07:17 pmtwoeyesonthesky.livejournal.comA lot happened yesterday. More than Quinn would've thought possible, in fact- not in terms of deeds so much as words. Conversations with a man who might have walked out of the least wholesome parts of Quinn's past, with a man who looked like something out of a young boy's dreams of superheroes, with a girl whose world never burned-
With a man from a future further beyond Quinn's own time than he ever dared to imagine, who said things that could just conceivably change things forever.
( "Ruttin' hell. You're...rich, Quinn." "No. No, I'm not. It's not mine, Mal, it's my people's-" )
It was... more than he quite knew how to handle, and really, he wanted to run somewhere as far as he could and wait for the whole thing to blow over. It couldn't be real. It didn't mean anything. And yet, and yet...
Well, anyway, it didn't matter. Right now Quinn's trying to gather his thoughts with the help of yet another few things he hasn't had in a long, long time- the Bar's given him orange juice, and a box of pencils, and a pad of some of the finest paper he's seen in a long, long time. (Even if it is ordinary art-supply shop paper). The matters of yesterday are more than he can really think about right now, so he's sketching out one of the rooms back home instead- it's a fine, detailed rendition of what was once the chancel of a castle's chapel, with saints and such taking shape on the walls and many sconces and other places for candles and light-sources to go.
With a man from a future further beyond Quinn's own time than he ever dared to imagine, who said things that could just conceivably change things forever.
( "Ruttin' hell. You're...rich, Quinn." "No. No, I'm not. It's not mine, Mal, it's my people's-" )
It was... more than he quite knew how to handle, and really, he wanted to run somewhere as far as he could and wait for the whole thing to blow over. It couldn't be real. It didn't mean anything. And yet, and yet...
Well, anyway, it didn't matter. Right now Quinn's trying to gather his thoughts with the help of yet another few things he hasn't had in a long, long time- the Bar's given him orange juice, and a box of pencils, and a pad of some of the finest paper he's seen in a long, long time. (Even if it is ordinary art-supply shop paper). The matters of yesterday are more than he can really think about right now, so he's sketching out one of the rooms back home instead- it's a fine, detailed rendition of what was once the chancel of a castle's chapel, with saints and such taking shape on the walls and many sconces and other places for candles and light-sources to go.
(no subject)
Apr. 8th, 2006 04:37 pmthecooloneFresh in from a quick trip to Egypt -- in fact, the sounds and smells and waft of heat are quite evident behind him as he walks through the front door -- Bill takes off his head scarf, shakes out his hair, and lets out a sigh. There are newspapers and magazines tucked under his arm; he's not smiling.
In fact, he looks entirely grim. He stops to glance at a headline or two before heading directly to the bar.
"Ogden's. A double shot."
In fact, he looks entirely grim. He stops to glance at a headline or two before heading directly to the bar.
"Ogden's. A double shot."
(no subject)
Mar. 23rd, 2006 01:06 amleplusbeau[OOM: A comedy sketch a month in the making.
Fleur pays a visit to the Tonks-Wrangle flat.
There are adventures in the loo, flying turtles, toothbrush love gifts, Surprising Twists, confused red heads, and one toddler that just Really Needs To Pee.
Yes, Very Surprising Twists.
And thank you so much to everyone for this one. Thank you. ]
Fleur pays a visit to the Tonks-Wrangle flat.
There are adventures in the loo, flying turtles, toothbrush love gifts, Surprising Twists, confused red heads, and one toddler that just Really Needs To Pee.
Yes, Very Surprising Twists.
And thank you so much to everyone for this one. Thank you. ]
(no subject)
Mar. 5th, 2006 06:54 pmthecooloneHead scarf tucked beneath his arm but still clad in his galabayya, Bill opens the door entirely absorbed in Al-Ahram Weekly. The letters on the newsprint would be unrecognisable to most, but he's worked in Luxor for a long time and knows the language almost too well. He doesn't really seem to register anyone at the bar or even the fact he's back at the bar: he's fixated on the paper. Stumbling into the nearest table, he curses beneath his breath but sits in the closest available chair, drawing out his wand.
He uses it as a pen; it highlights the article he's reading. He sets that paper aside and takes out another one: he's got a whole stack. Next up is Cairo Live, and after that it will be the Middle East Times. He'll finish with the Egypt Daily News and that will be enough. His face falls as he reads; he finds himself highlighting more and more news stories that by themselves might be entirely insignificant but when they're read as a series... they start to fall together like pieces of a puzzle.
Fuck. These are not random acts, he thinks. No: on 12 January in Siwa, a house was set afire and all the camels' throats slit. The family who owned the property were never found. A week later at the Dakhla Oasis near Mut, a woman was found dead but no cause of death could be established. On 3 February, three eleven-year-old children were found stoned to death on the banks of the Nile near Sohag. In mid-February a family disappeared from Mallawi and another from Minya. And on and on it went: in none of these cases was motive ever established, and no perpetrators were ever caught.
"Fuck!" Bill says it out loud this time, hand wrapping unhappily round the end of his wand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck." He flags down a passing wait-rat. "Bring me a large glass of Ogden's. In fact, make it the whole bloody bottle. They're heading straight towards Cairo."
He uses it as a pen; it highlights the article he's reading. He sets that paper aside and takes out another one: he's got a whole stack. Next up is Cairo Live, and after that it will be the Middle East Times. He'll finish with the Egypt Daily News and that will be enough. His face falls as he reads; he finds himself highlighting more and more news stories that by themselves might be entirely insignificant but when they're read as a series... they start to fall together like pieces of a puzzle.
Fuck. These are not random acts, he thinks. No: on 12 January in Siwa, a house was set afire and all the camels' throats slit. The family who owned the property were never found. A week later at the Dakhla Oasis near Mut, a woman was found dead but no cause of death could be established. On 3 February, three eleven-year-old children were found stoned to death on the banks of the Nile near Sohag. In mid-February a family disappeared from Mallawi and another from Minya. And on and on it went: in none of these cases was motive ever established, and no perpetrators were ever caught.
"Fuck!" Bill says it out loud this time, hand wrapping unhappily round the end of his wand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck." He flags down a passing wait-rat. "Bring me a large glass of Ogden's. In fact, make it the whole bloody bottle. They're heading straight towards Cairo."
(no subject)
Feb. 17th, 2006 05:24 pmthecooloneIt feels as if it's been a long time since they were here. It hasn't been -- not really -- it's just that Egypt is so very far away from everything. Even though it can't possibly matter in terms of time and space and distance, seeing as how they're at the end of the universe, London simply feels closer to this place.
It's less alien, less foreign.
His arm round his lovely wife's waist, Bill Weasley opens the door to Milliways and steps in.
"After you, my love."
It's good to be back.
It's less alien, less foreign.
His arm round his lovely wife's waist, Bill Weasley opens the door to Milliways and steps in.
"After you, my love."
It's good to be back.
(no subject)
Feb. 5th, 2006 09:43 pmleplusbeau[OOM: Bill and Fleur in Egypt.
Or, in other words.
Bill: ...what? Wait. What?
Fleur: WHY DO YOU NOT KNOW MY FEELINGS BEFORE I SAY THEM?!
Rated G for Goofball like behavior and S for Shockingly not full of naked and Surprisingly emotional.]
Or, in other words.
Bill: ...what? Wait. What?
Fleur: WHY DO YOU NOT KNOW MY FEELINGS BEFORE I SAY THEM?!
Rated G for Goofball like behavior and S for Shockingly not full of naked and Surprisingly emotional.]
(no subject)
Jan. 26th, 2006 09:14 pmleplusbeauFleur is lounging about in a shirt with one button again.
Naughty witch having a one line entrance post. Very very naughty.
Naughty witch having a one line entrance post. Very very naughty.
(no subject)
Jan. 17th, 2006 04:57 pmthecooloneAs always, there is much to think about. Here or there, outside or inside, Egypt or London, London or the end of the Universe, work or play, magic or not? The holidays in London were delightful -- a veritable escape -- but now he and Fleur are back here once more and they need to decide what to do.
What to do, what to do, what to do: it's a good thing Bill is not prone to pacing. Instead, he sits at a table in the middle of the bar, simply... contemplating. If his foot taps slightly in impatience, he really can't be blamed. He's not used to stasis.
What to do, what to do, what to do: it's a good thing Bill is not prone to pacing. Instead, he sits at a table in the middle of the bar, simply... contemplating. If his foot taps slightly in impatience, he really can't be blamed. He's not used to stasis.
(no subject)
Dec. 8th, 2005 09:03 pmyoung_tmriddleTom stops in the bar for a quick drink. He hasn't much time - he never seems to anymore. But while he's here, he'd be pleased to say hello to old friends or new.
(OOC: Mun has little time, too, but kinda needs to play her old favorite tonight.)
(OOC: Mun has little time, too, but kinda needs to play her old favorite tonight.)
(no subject)
Sep. 5th, 2005 04:09 pmaccessobrian.livejournal.comChloe is in a bar. Eating, drinking, reading a paper.
So nothing out of the norm.
Feel very free to bug her!
So nothing out of the norm.
Feel very free to bug her!
(no subject)
Aug. 31st, 2005 11:22 pmleplusbeau[OOM: Last night, Bill and Fleur talk of death and flats. Warning for naughty icons and FTB.]
