http://kikidelivers.livejournal.com/ (
kikidelivers.livejournal.com) wrote in
fandomtownies2005-11-08 10:29 am
Aziraphale's Rare Books, Tuesday Morning
Kiki is there, kneeling on the floor, sorting a stack of volumes by subject and alphabetizing them. She's mumbling under her breath to keep her place as she sets each one aside.
"Llamas... Legends of Kaleria...that would be mysticism and medieval lore... Alchemical Transfigurations Primer 1... The Glee of Cooking, with Blark and Snark... Lewd and Lacivious Limericks and Ladies who Love Them - oh my!"
Kiki blushes and quickly buries that one in another pile.
[ooc: Crowley and Aziraphale may or may not be there as well...]
"Llamas... Legends of Kaleria...that would be mysticism and medieval lore... Alchemical Transfigurations Primer 1... The Glee of Cooking, with Blark and Snark... Lewd and Lacivious Limericks and Ladies who Love Them - oh my!"
Kiki blushes and quickly buries that one in another pile.
[ooc: Crowley and Aziraphale may or may not be there as well...]

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Kiki! Bring me some paper and a pen. Now.
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After a moment's hesitation, Kiki askes, "Do you need anything else?"
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An envelope.
[He looks down and begins to write.]
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She holds it out to him, and then stoops and picks up his glasses, and holds those out to him as well.
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He is drawn up short to look at Kiki with a grin. "Kiki!" he chirped cheerfully. "Hey!"
((ooc: eeeeee! can't let this chance pass. haven't talked to kiki in forever.))
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Harry sees her looking to the lounge area, and looks too. He doesn't see Crowley, though. "So, is he nice? I heard he's feeding on ducks? Or is that just a rumour? It sounds kinda gross" Harry says, and frowns.
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Repost to fix my sad html
Re: Repost to fix my sad html
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And she did. Need it. For her own sanity's sake.
For Tara...
She pulls the door open and steps inside. She's dressed in black cargo pants, a white wifebeater and her steel-toed boots. She'd thrown her gray hoodie on over that in some feeble, half-minded effort to keep out the morning chill, but never even bothered to zip it, the fingerless gloves on her hands giving her a better grip on the grooved and dented wood.
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Glancing in the direction of the stairs, she purses her lips, fingers tightening their grip around the bat.
With that, she walks across the shop to the staircase, boots making heavy, hollow-sounding footfalls as she takes them one at a time.
Once she reaches the top of the stairs, she opens the door and pushes it so that it sits far back on its hinges. Standing there, she holds the bat along her leg. Not a threat so much as a crutch.
"You know why I'm here," she says quietly.
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