By now they’ve known one another long enough that Aziraphale can tell he’s really gotten Crowley’s attention. The drunken, disbelieving look the angel gives him is the surest sign Aziraphale can think of that he’s stopped whatever spiral Crowley’s been pacing within his own mind.
(It’s like playing the flute and watching a child look up, seeing the whisper in the melody sink in and take hold. It’s a tiny victory against the way Heaven thinks the world ought to be. It’s exactly what Aziraphale needs to keep going.)
“I’m entirely serious,” he says, still keeping his tone as light as if this is just another conversation—even as his fingertips smooth away a smear of caked-on mud from the pink edge of a lash mark. “Of course they got a lot of it wrong, or made up something they thought suitably weird when they were missing information. They think you were fathered by the forces of Hell, for one thing. Also claimed you had a hand in arranging Arthur’s conception—not personally, mind, just that you facilitated things.”
With a flick of his wrist he banishes the dirt already in the water to a back alley somewhere, leaving the bath clean again so he can continue his work.
“Though funnily enough they left out the most interesting bits. Not a word about you showing Arthur what it was like to be a sparrow. Or the arguments you’d get into with Bedivere over why potatoes have eyes.”
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timeasmymeasure
My pleasure. Also wow the Vulgate Merlin is a thing.
Date: 2020-04-23 01:30 am (UTC)(It’s like playing the flute and watching a child look up, seeing the whisper in the melody sink in and take hold. It’s a tiny victory against the way Heaven thinks the world ought to be. It’s exactly what Aziraphale needs to keep going.)
“I’m entirely serious,” he says, still keeping his tone as light as if this is just another conversation—even as his fingertips smooth away a smear of caked-on mud from the pink edge of a lash mark. “Of course they got a lot of it wrong, or made up something they thought suitably weird when they were missing information. They think you were fathered by the forces of Hell, for one thing. Also claimed you had a hand in arranging Arthur’s conception—not personally, mind, just that you facilitated things.”
With a flick of his wrist he banishes the dirt already in the water to a back alley somewhere, leaving the bath clean again so he can continue his work.
“Though funnily enough they left out the most interesting bits. Not a word about you showing Arthur what it was like to be a sparrow. Or the arguments you’d get into with Bedivere over why potatoes have eyes.”