Aziraphael doesn't stop his attempts to coax some heat from the stove-top, but only because he's already stilled -- first stopping when he heard the hitch in Crowley's voice. But after another short moment, he resumes his efforts, replying, "Oh dear. Are you quite sure? In this world, there are only two tragedies, and all that."
There's no answer -- only, after a moment, the sudden clank of the stove, and the first hopeful lickings of flame.
"Most things are as they were when you left, of course," he begins. "It's been terribly quiet here on the whole; hardly a peep out of anyone. Raguel came and spent a few weeks about the place -- did wonders with the weeding, in fact, although I'm not sure he has the makings of a gardener. I suspect he was just humouring me, really, but it was... appreciated. Shepherd Lewis was only just saying how much nicer he thinks it looks around the back, so I suppose it must have stuck. Of course I told you about the preparations for the water problems..."
It's an endless stream of monologue, washing over the jangling of the cutlery drawer and the busy banging of the cupboards; never landing fully on one topic, and certainly never touching on anything difficult. The more he talks, he finds, the more natural it feels -- or at least, as natural as it can feel, under the circumstances: talking into a silence that he only knows Crowley is occupying because his senses tell him so.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-08-10 01:02 am (UTC)There's no answer -- only, after a moment, the sudden clank of the stove, and the first hopeful lickings of flame.
"Most things are as they were when you left, of course," he begins. "It's been terribly quiet here on the whole; hardly a peep out of anyone. Raguel came and spent a few weeks about the place -- did wonders with the weeding, in fact, although I'm not sure he has the makings of a gardener. I suspect he was just humouring me, really, but it was... appreciated. Shepherd Lewis was only just saying how much nicer he thinks it looks around the back, so I suppose it must have stuck. Of course I told you about the preparations for the water problems..."
It's an endless stream of monologue, washing over the jangling of the cutlery drawer and the busy banging of the cupboards; never landing fully on one topic, and certainly never touching on anything difficult. The more he talks, he finds, the more natural it feels -- or at least, as natural as it can feel, under the circumstances: talking into a silence that he only knows Crowley is occupying because his senses tell him so.