Aziraphale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bibliophale) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bigapplesauce2014-12-23 01:58 pm
bibliophale) wrote in bigapplesauce2014-12-23 01:58 pm
Entry tags:
Back On The Welcome Wagon [closed]
Aziraphale has kept his head down for the most part as he works at the Base, but lately, with Illyria having been at his shop, and now Crowley more or less avoiding him and Melanie still seeming guilty, it's been a bit of a blessing to go to work there. He sits quietly at his desk, entering data about new registrants, blessedly undisturbed.
Nearing the end of his shift, which comes early, due to his tendency to come in at the literal crack of dawn, one of his superiors stops by his desk.
"Your shift ends in five, right?" she asks.
"Er - yes." He blinks up at her, wondering if he'll be asked to stay on. Wouldn't be such a hardship.
"Are you heading to the apartments?"
He nods, frowning, perplexed.
"Great." She checks her watch. "Would you mind escorting one of the new recruits over there with you? We're just finishing up with him now. He'll have the keys to a new place, if you could show him around a bit, make sure he knows how to use his phone?"
Aziraphale doesn't tell her how comical it is that she wants him to help someone with those accursed so-called 'smartphones'. He nods calmly, getting to his feet.
"How recently did he arrive?" he wonders.
"Yesterday," she says. "And he's not from around here. If you know what I mean."
Well, none of them are. That isn't terribly informative. But Aziraphale will find out the rest for himself easily enough.
"I'll have him wait by the west entrance," she says. "Thanks so much, Az."
He resists the deep urge to quiver with irritation at the nickname. He is going to have to find a way to politely keep that from happening while acknowledging that yes, he knows his name is weird and difficult, and he's sorry about it, but please.
He shuts down his computer and gathers his umbrella, which he's taken to carrying no matter what after the previous rain incident - an affectation that only makes him look gayer, more academic, and more English according to certain of his acquaintances1 - and heads toward the western path out.
It's not difficult to spot his charge, with his unusual facial markings, glowing eyes, oddly shaped and asymmetrical ears, and those clothes. He barely bats an eyelash at it, stepping over to the flamboyant little man and greeting him with, "Hallo. I'm to be your escort, it seems." He offers his hand. "Aziraphale. Pleased to meet you."
1 Essentially up for grabs. If you're acquainted and you might have said this, you did.
Nearing the end of his shift, which comes early, due to his tendency to come in at the literal crack of dawn, one of his superiors stops by his desk.
"Your shift ends in five, right?" she asks.
"Er - yes." He blinks up at her, wondering if he'll be asked to stay on. Wouldn't be such a hardship.
"Are you heading to the apartments?"
He nods, frowning, perplexed.
"Great." She checks her watch. "Would you mind escorting one of the new recruits over there with you? We're just finishing up with him now. He'll have the keys to a new place, if you could show him around a bit, make sure he knows how to use his phone?"
Aziraphale doesn't tell her how comical it is that she wants him to help someone with those accursed so-called 'smartphones'. He nods calmly, getting to his feet.
"How recently did he arrive?" he wonders.
"Yesterday," she says. "And he's not from around here. If you know what I mean."
Well, none of them are. That isn't terribly informative. But Aziraphale will find out the rest for himself easily enough.
"I'll have him wait by the west entrance," she says. "Thanks so much, Az."
He resists the deep urge to quiver with irritation at the nickname. He is going to have to find a way to politely keep that from happening while acknowledging that yes, he knows his name is weird and difficult, and he's sorry about it, but please.
He shuts down his computer and gathers his umbrella, which he's taken to carrying no matter what after the previous rain incident - an affectation that only makes him look gayer, more academic, and more English according to certain of his acquaintances1 - and heads toward the western path out.
It's not difficult to spot his charge, with his unusual facial markings, glowing eyes, oddly shaped and asymmetrical ears, and those clothes. He barely bats an eyelash at it, stepping over to the flamboyant little man and greeting him with, "Hallo. I'm to be your escort, it seems." He offers his hand. "Aziraphale. Pleased to meet you."
1 Essentially up for grabs. If you're acquainted and you might have said this, you did.