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The Girl in the Cage [closed]
Oct. 17th, 2014 09:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bibliophaleIt takes Crowley a few hours to get back to his initial query, and when he does it is with the grim but unsurprising news that ROMAC does not intend to let their fungus child live in peace in her little dungeon hideaway. Even if their intentions are pure, as they might well be in this instance, Aziraphale doesn't like the idea of Melanie as a test subject, and something tells him she won't like it either.
More importantly, it just doesn't sit right with him, a little girl living in a place like that. It would be heartless to just leave her there. Rescuing her is the right thing to do. The angelic thing.
As soon as he's decided, he closes up the shop and vanishes, leaving his phone on the counter (not on purpose, though it's probably for the best, the way Crowley keeps going on).
He doesn't quite know where he's heading. The Base itself is easy enough, but he's only got a fair guess at which level is Melanie's. He finds himself in a corridor more or less resembling the place from his dream, and takes a moment to fish around, seeking something young, human, and also not quite human. Her consciousness doesn't exactly stand out, but it is odd, and after a moment he gets a faint sense for it, lower in the earth.
He slips into a stairwell and hurries down a few flights. He passes a few men and women with security badges, and all look right past him. He's no one. He's definitely supposed to be here. On the cameras, of course, he won't show up at all.
Coming out the stairwell into Melanie's cell block, he immediately finds himself face to face with a guard, who raises his gun with a sharp "Hey!" Aziraphale steps around him with the grace and nonchalance of a professional spy. The guard fires a warning shot, a thin stream of water grazing Aziraphale's upper arm (sometimes old tricks are the best ones). Aziraphale passes a hand over his arm to dry his blazer, and, as an afterthought, encourages the guard to take a quick lie-down, and just forget about that odd little dream with the mild-mannered intruder.
He hones in on Melanie's room without further incident, passes a hand over it to undo each of the five locks, and steps inside.
She's there, as small and innocent as she looked in the dream (can this child really be dangerous?), reading a book that looks much too complex for a ten-year-old.
"Hello again," he says pleasantly.
More importantly, it just doesn't sit right with him, a little girl living in a place like that. It would be heartless to just leave her there. Rescuing her is the right thing to do. The angelic thing.
As soon as he's decided, he closes up the shop and vanishes, leaving his phone on the counter (not on purpose, though it's probably for the best, the way Crowley keeps going on).
He doesn't quite know where he's heading. The Base itself is easy enough, but he's only got a fair guess at which level is Melanie's. He finds himself in a corridor more or less resembling the place from his dream, and takes a moment to fish around, seeking something young, human, and also not quite human. Her consciousness doesn't exactly stand out, but it is odd, and after a moment he gets a faint sense for it, lower in the earth.
He slips into a stairwell and hurries down a few flights. He passes a few men and women with security badges, and all look right past him. He's no one. He's definitely supposed to be here. On the cameras, of course, he won't show up at all.
Coming out the stairwell into Melanie's cell block, he immediately finds himself face to face with a guard, who raises his gun with a sharp "Hey!" Aziraphale steps around him with the grace and nonchalance of a professional spy. The guard fires a warning shot, a thin stream of water grazing Aziraphale's upper arm (sometimes old tricks are the best ones). Aziraphale passes a hand over his arm to dry his blazer, and, as an afterthought, encourages the guard to take a quick lie-down, and just forget about that odd little dream with the mild-mannered intruder.
He hones in on Melanie's room without further incident, passes a hand over it to undo each of the five locks, and steps inside.
She's there, as small and innocent as she looked in the dream (can this child really be dangerous?), reading a book that looks much too complex for a ten-year-old.
"Hello again," he says pleasantly.
