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Aziraphale's Rare Books

Kiki quietly unlocks the door and goes through her customary opening routine, then flips the sign to open.

She takes a stack of books and begins sorting them to shelve, and pauses. She would swear she had just shelved half of these the other day. It must just have been customers pulling them back off the shelves and leaving them about.

Crouching, Kiki absent-mindedly begins replacing the books on the shelves, but as she's not really concentrating, she's doing a marvelously terrible job of putting them in the right place, and is probably just making the disorganization worse, veiled as it now is under the guise of being tidy.

Her shoulders shrug as she sighs. She felt Mr. Crowley's absence as surely as if there had been a bepimped-demon-shaped hole cut in the wall of the cozy shop. Pushing the rest of the books onto the shelf with impatience and total disregard for subject or alphabetical order, Kiki stands up, brushing off her hands, and goes into the kitchen, the last place she had seen and spoken with Mr. Crowley. He'd been nice to her - almost affectionate, really - at the party that day, as they made the cheesecake together. "I bet that was part of it," Kiki murmurs to herself. "Not the whole, but...he's not supposed to be nice like that."

Kiki takes some eggs from the refrigerator, reflecting that that, too, had been one of the last imperious demands he had made of her, and she cracks them into a pan. Mr. Aziraphale needed something more than a scone and tea for breakfast for once. It was time someone made him a good old-fashioned omlette.

Of course, Kiki thinks as she sliced a pepper, Mr. Crowley would have told her it was complete rubbish, and that she didn't know a damned thing about what went into a good omlette. Tears drip from her eyes, and she rubs them away on her sleeve. It's just that she's cutting up an onion, really.

[open to any, store is open, Kiki will hear the bell on the door]

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...if you can actually find what you're looking for on the jumbled-up shelves.

Jonathan comes into Mr. Phale's shop with the intent to pick up something for his grandmother, It had completely sckipped his mind to buy her something but he knows there will be hell to pay if he doesn't.

Fire is burning brightly, and there's assorted pastries and tea.

Midafternoon, Inara steps into the shop.

She's brought a tea blend she made as a gift for Mr. Phale and Mr. Crowley, in a small porcelain urn. She wishes she'd remembered it at the party on Saturday before Mr. Crowley had to leave.

A little girl...angel? demon?...comes skipping down the stairs from Aziraphale's room. Stopping in the center of the shop, she looks around, blinking.

Jonathan is going through a few bookshelves in search of something his grandmother might like when the little girl comes down from Mr. Phale's room. He isn't sure who she is, or even why she was up there but... it's always best to be polite.

"Hello," he says to her, "I'm Jonathan Crane, are you looking for a book?"

Turning to the voice, her wings flare out and she hisses. Arms move out and fingers curl into claws. She looks like she might attack at any second.

"Whoa!" Jonathan says, arms out as he backs away slightly, "Did I say something? ummm, Mr. Phale doesn't allow violence in the bookshop." He then looks around, "Where are your parents?"

The hiss becomes a shriek as her eyes lock onto his waistband. She points, the holy cacophany growing louder.

As she points and shrieks Jonathan's hip begins to burn. The same hip Crowley had marked with the odegra. And it's officially not funny anymore.

"Who. Are. You," he asks her, retreating several steps, "Where are Mr. Phale and Mr. Crowley?"

He wants to hit her, pick up one of the heavy books lying about and bash her over the head with it. He knows Mr. Phale wouldn't appreciate it though, and... he knows it's not actually the kind of thing that would help anything.

Quieting down, she looks around the shop for Aziraphale. When she doesn't she him immediately, she turns back to the human boy. Placing her hands on her hips, she leans forward at the waist. Scrunching her nose and squinching her eyes closed, she stickes her tongue out at him.

Now that she's stopped screaming and he can actually think Jonathan also looks around for some one to help him with this... child. When she sticks her tongue out at him he rolls his eyes.

"That's very ladylike of you, isn't it?" he says sarcastically, "Can you speak?"

"Crroo. Cooo" she looks at him defiantly.

"Right, so I take that as a no," he says. He takes in her appearance, the dark and light wings, the scales, the forked tongue ~~that I won't subtext about because zomg, little girl!~~. She looks like some weird cross between Crowley and Mr. Phale, "Can I umm, help you with anything?"

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