rockandrollvampire | A vampire walks into an angel's bookshop...

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A vampire walks into an angel's bookshop...

It's a blustery December afternoon in London. Nothing special about it as people bustle around in their coats from one place to another, fretting about gifts for loved ones as the sun goes down and Christmas ekes closer. The temperature is barely above freezing and the sky is clouded over with that usual gray haze, but it's hardly noticeable against the backdrop of twinkle lights, decorated evergreens, and green garlands strung up around every corner.

Toby's in a better mood than usual today. With the sun setting so early, he's able to get out of his apartment at a reasonable hour and finally check in on a shop he heard about a few weeks ago. 'Oldest books I've ever seen,' a fellow patron had told him. 'More first editions than I thought possible!'

What a perfect place to pick up a few new volumes he's been hoping to add to his collection ...and replace a few that were left in the care of his now former lover.

As he steps up to the storefront, the vampire takes the cigarette he'd been puffing from his lips and snubs it out on the curb. He's not dressed terribly well for the weather by human standards, but what's cold to a vampire? With a little charm and a dazzling smile, he's sure he can distract the proprietor of... A.Z. Fell's Bookshop. That's a hell of a name. At least Toby knows the owner's name now?

Adjusting his collar a bit, he steps inside and starts looking around. His eyes are immediately drawn to how old the volumes on the shelves are and a small grin tugs at his lips. Yeah, this is exactly where he needed to be today.

[OOC Note: This is set in December 2018]

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The shop has that delightful smell of old paper and leather. All the books up front are secondhand but not the fabulous first editions that Toby has heard about. Those appear to be further back in the shelves, curiously not so prominently displayed as the other (old, and valuable, but perhaps not quite the jewel in one's collection, to a discerning eye) books.

Behind the counter is a middle-aged man with hair so blonde it is more or less white, and a face that could be described as cherubic. He's also dressed several decades out of date, in a waistcoat and bowtie, with a small sprig of holly pinned to his jacket's lapel as a nod to the season.

He's assisting a customer with her holiday purchase, passing it to her and wishing her a good evening. When he looks up and sees Toby, his expression goes from pleasant to clearly dismayed before he drops his gaze and fusses with the cash register. Oh, dear. He had been hoping that this woman was his last customer of the day so that he could close up shop and get to the more important work of reading (and perhaps working on more parables of kindness for Warlock, who was becoming far too obsessed with video games lately). Now he's stuck with some young fellow who looks like he only came in to get out of the cold. Goodness, where is his coat?

"Excuse me," he calls out. "I'm, ah... I'm afraid we're closing soon, so..." So please hurry up and leave, he adds silently as he begins to tidy up the day's receipts.

Edited 2019-06-22 01:50 (UTC)

God, what decade did this one walk out of? Is he one of those... vintage folks that Toby's been hearing all about recently? Or was it hipster? (He doesn't know and the Internet is still hard, okay.)

Toby's gingerly touching a few of the first editions on the bookshelf closest to the counter when the proprietor speaks to him. Rather than address the man's concerns about closing, the vampire redirects the conversation as he puts his hands into the pockets of his light coat.

"Any Wordsworth first editions hiding in your collection?" he asks with a charming smile. No vampire charms yet, just the practiced charm of a man who's lived for a very long time. "Shakespeare, perhaps? Or maybe even a few Oscar Wildes?"

...yeah, that last one is hard for him to say, but his face only twinges a little as he gets the name out. He'll give just about anything to get a few pieces of history related to someone he cares about very much, though.

It must be vintage, because there's absolutely nothing ironic about the way he's wearing his clothes. When Toby smiles at him, he returns it automatically. He may not actually be British, but living in the same country for over a thousand years has rubbed off on him, and he doesn't have the nerve to be impolite.

When Toby makes his inquiry, the angel's hands still on his receipts and he raises an eyebrow. Not because of the Shakespeare -- everybody asks for Shakespeare. It's the Oscar Wilde that has his attention. People love to quote the Irish playwright, but he doesn't often run across young people asking after his works specifically. Wordsworth even less so.

The bell above the door jingles as the previous customer steps out into the night. Aziraphale glances at the door, then back again at Toby. Well... it isn't exactly closing time. And Oscar had been very generous with copies of his work, perhaps he can let this young man with good taste take a look.

"Fourth row over there," he says, pointing to the back of the shop. "I'll come with you, in case you need any help. Any particular work of Oscar's -- I mean, Mr. Wilde -- you're looking for?"

Edited 2019-06-22 12:38 (UTC)

He's not surprised to hear Oscar referred to by his first name - the owners of shops like these often feel a very close connection to their favorite authors - but there is a small sting of pain for Toby as he turns toward the indicated bookshelves. The last person he's heard call the author fondly by 'Oscar' is still a very sore spot for him.

"Anything on hand would be good," he says, covering the pain he feels with a nonchalant shrug. He looks up as the angel falls in step with him, smiling ruefully. "But if you've any copies of The Picture of Dorian Gray, I'll take them all. That one holds a particularly special meaning to me."

Oscar Wilde is certainly a favorite of this bookseller, as evidenced by his pristine collection. Only time has aged the pages of these books, otherwise undamaged.

Aziraphale blinks at the man's specific request. Truthfully, Dorian Gray isn't one of his favorites. A little too spooky for his tastes. But his affection for the author means that he has collected that novel as diligently as his other works. "My dear boy," he says with a bemused smile, "If I sold you all my copies, I'd be out of a job. But, ah... hmm. I do have a first edition here. Unsigned, but it's been kept in excellent condition."

He plucks it off the shelf and offers it to Toby. "May I ask why it has such a special meaning to you? It's a heavy work for one so young."

He chuckles at the look on Aziraphale's face. He forgets sometimes that his young face doesn't give away the means he has available to him. A few centuries have allowed him enough cash to do whatever he wants, though it's only for instances like this that Toby actually pulls any of it out. "A single first edition, then, and a signed copy if you have one."

The question earns a huffed breath as he carefully takes the book in his hands. He traces the inlay of the title and the well-kept hardcover slowly, taking in every detail with all of his sense at once.

"It was the favorite of someone I loved very much." A truth, if a slightly misleading one. Dorian has a lot of favorite books, but this one is something even more special than that. "I've lost touch with him, but I'm hoping to keep him close with this."

He looks up from the book finally, a small, sad smile on his lips. "Truthfully, the signed copy is for him. I have the means to get it to him, but it's best I don't try to see him again."

Edited 2019-06-22 23:38 (UTC)

"I'll see what I can do about a signed copy," he says, pulling out each book in turn and taking a peek at the inside cover. He's fairly certain that the one Oscar signed for him, personally, is tucked away somewhere else, but perhaps one of the reprints has the author's signature.

The answer gives him pause, one hand resting on the shelf as he looks at Toby with a slight tilt of his head, eyebrows drawn together in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely. Humans have such capacity for love, but too often it ends in disaster. At least, that's what he's witnessed over the millennia. He can't help but feel badly for the man in front of him.

He resumes his search, a bit slower than before. "Is that, ah... perhaps the best thing? Keeping a reminder of him?" He speaks it with genuine curiosity, not as a means to decline the sale. "Is there not a book that you like, for your own sake?"

The concern is touching, but not exactly what the vampire is looking for from someone he's purchasing books from. It is endearing, though, so Toby lets it slide with a chuckle before moving right along.

"That's what the Wordsworth is for. Used to drive my man bonkers when I'd recite poetry and he'd realize it was Wordsworth." And Toby loved every second of watching Dorian roll his eyes. True, it was in jest and his boyfriend was constantly poking fun at the poet, but that never stopped the vampire from enjoying poking right back at said boyfriend.

"Talking of which, there's no need for first editions on that. I can buy a cheap copy from any decent shop, but what I'm really looking for is an old volume. Something that's from the time it was written in." Books like that smell of history, and it feels good to reach back into the past with things like this. He wouldn't want to live in that era again, but he certainly likes to visit from time to time.

The explanation has Aziraphale smiling again, even chortling a little as he resumes his search. "Oh, I know the pleasure of that particular jest. I've nearly driven my friend mad with John Donne. All in good fun, of course, if he's going to pester me with Rolling Stones lyrics..."

His brain catches up to his mouth as he realizes that he's shared (a) a rather personal anecdote and (b) offered it in the same manner as this man spoke of his ex-boyfriend. His nose twitches like a startled rabbit's. "Ah, er, that is... well, best be finding you that Wordsworth, then!"

He scurries off to the other end of the bookshop in a fluster, only to drag himself back several seconds later. "Forgot I was already in the 'W's," he admits with a sheepish look that doesn't quite meet Toby's eyes.

"The Stones are decent, but the least your friend could do is offer some Madonna, Bowie, or Queen to go alongside them. A bit of variety is good when it comes to that era of music." That and Toby will take Madonna over literally everyone else he just listed. She's his totem, after all, and she more than earned that with her early music.

Again with the curious reactions. Toby can't help but laugh, in a very good natured way of course, as Aziraphale first wanders off and then slowly makes his way back over. He can't tell if the angel is easily distracted or if he truly thought this was the 'O' section after he began by referring to Oscar Wilde by his first name.

"We'll see if we can't find old Wordsworth together then, yeah?" He chuckles again and turns his attention to the bookshelf, his eyes scanning over everything quickly. There's far more volumes available than Toby might have guessed from the look of the shop on the street, but he's quite impressed. There's first editions from the likes of H. G. Wells, Virginia Woolf, and Thornton Wilder up here!

Toby lets out a low whistle as he finally grabs a very old and yet very well-kept copy of Poems in Two Volumes from one of the higher shelves. "That's a hell of a collection you've got. How'd you manage to get a hold of some of these?"

Aziraphale nods absently, internally trying desperately to get his act together. The mention of Queen is another setback as he blinks owlishly at Toby for a moment before replying, "Oh... yes, he's a big fan of Queen. And Bowie. Madonna is the American woman, yes? I'm not, ah, I don't listen to much..." He trails off, mentally flailing for the proper word. Crowley made fun of him for calling that style of music 'bebop', but he can't think of anything else! "...um. Popular music?"

He sighs and takes a moment while Toby looks through the shelf on his own. Aziraphale must be out of sorts because of the upcoming armageddon. It's less than a year until the Anti-Christ turns eleven, that's bound to stress anyone out.

Fortunately, the human is more than gracious, giving the angel a chance to regain his composure. He can't quite work up the mysterious smile he normally gives his customers, but he does reply enigmatically, "I have my ways. The key is to know where to look for them." When he hasn't simply obtained them a short time after they were published and taken meticulous care of them since.

How absolutely precious. He doesn't know Madonna? Let Toby enlighten you about the gloriousness that is his totem, Aziraphale.

A wide grin breaks out across his face as he turns to the angel. "She's American, yeah. She broke boundaries of pop back in the 80's and heavily brought sex into the phrase of 'sex, drugs, and rock and roll'. She's a stunning performer and artist. If you've not listened to any of her early hits, I'm sure I've got a few on my cell phone, if you want to hear..."

Not that he really thinks the other man will, but, well, Madonna. This is a necessity in Toby's mind. Madonna always is, as far as he's concerned, because... well, yes?

"You have to tell me your secret, friend. I could clean out your shop and still not be satisfied with all of the volumes you have." He chuckles as he flips through the book in his hands briefly and then turns his eyes back to the bookshelf. God, what he wouldn't give to have the space for a study like this. Though, now that he thinks about it, he has an idea that he's not sure Aziraphale will go for, but there's only one way to find out."

"...do you ever let anyone read while in your shop?" A beat, and then he clarifies, "I'd buy every book in this store if you'd let me, but I've a feeling that's not why you've collected all of these works. If you'll allow me, I'd happily offer a monetary exchange for a quiet corner late in the day to read for a bit from the volumes you're least eager to part with."

Aziraphale listens with the polite look of someone who only vaguely understands what is being described to him. When Toby offers to play him a song, he considers declining, except he is a bit curious. This woman obviously has great importance to Toby, and to a lot of other people, as well. "I'll give it a listen," he replies gamely. "Perhaps I'll recognize her music after all."

Spoiler alert: He won't.

He stiffens ever so slightly at the idea of his bookshop being cleaned out, even though the people who say that rarely mean it, and the ones with the funds to do so are easily persuaded away. Angels do not "charm", but they have their own methods of making sure that they aren't bothered. There's a reason there isn't more word-of-mouth about his shop. But then Toby makes his offer, and his shoulders relax, head tilted a bit to the side while he considers. It'd be nice to have some quiet company towards the end of the day, especially with someone who shares his fondness for old books. All Crowley does is complain about how stuck in the past he is with his collection...

Oh, but Crowley. What if the demon comes by needing to talk about their Arrangement? Wouldn't that be awkward, him stumbling in here in his tight leather pants and flippant attitude with this young man tucked away in a corner of the shop?

~~Wouldn't he get jealous?~~

He hems and haws a bit, fussing with the holly on his lapel, his eyes darting from the book in Toby's hand to the man's hopeful face. "I suppose you could stay this evening for a little while, and we'll see how it goes." A trial period to make sure Toby is gentle with the books and doesn't try to overstay his welcome. He gives the man a tentative smile and gestures towards a comfortable-looking nook in the back, complete with a reading chair that possibly wasn't there before. "Help yourself. I'll go back to the business of closing shop."

Edited 2019-06-25 16:44 (UTC)

Oh. Oh this is too good. Too good. He gets the chance to introduce someone to Madonna in earnest? Fantastic. Absolutely brilliant.

...but where to start?

One of her greatest (early) hits is best, really. Toby enjoys all of them, so it's hard to pick a single one to begin this musical journey. Tucking the book in his hands under one arm, he pulls out his phone and starts digging through the Youtube for a good song and finally settles on a classic. He lets it play as they discuss the possibility of his staying in the shop for a while to read, and doesn't bother stopping it from moving right on to the next song.

The offer to let him stay earns a grin. "Brilliant. Thanks for that. Except for Madonna, you'll hardly know I'm here."

True enough, Toby doesn't make a scene as he makes his way to the reading nook, though he's quite slow to approach because there are simply so many good books all around him. Titles he's never heard of from author's he's loved for centuries. Whatever Aziraphale's secret is, Toby wants in because damn.

Finally, after a third song starts to play, the vampire takes a seat in one of the chairs in the nook and opens his volume of Wordsworth to start reading his way through it. He smiles as he takes in the poetry of the man who's company he enjoyed so long ago, the words feeling all the more important to him now that he's on the other side of "forever" with Dorian. His smile takes on a sad edge as he pauses a few poems in and takes a moment to look over the physical book in his hands more closely.

"Do you keep all your books on display?" he calls out. "I'd swear this was in better shape than possible for that."

Well... that's certainly a song. Aziraphale listens, his head tilted toward the cell phone like that little dog listening to the gramophone in the RCA logo. The lyrics appear to be about dancing, and he'll say this much for Madonna, she enunciates very clearly so he's at least able to understand what she's singing, even if he only has a vague notion of what a 'groove' is.

"Hmm." It's the only comment he makes before returning to the logistics of Toby reading in his shop. The second song sounds so much like the first song, to his ears, that he barely acknowledges it, only a brief glance at the phone again. "Oh, certainly. You may keep playing her at that volume." He'll be able to tune it out while he works.

And he does, at least consciously. But Toby may notice something curious occur while the angel bustles around his shop, flipping the sign in the door to 'Closed', shutting off the front lights and then going through the stacks, returning everything to its proper place. He's... moving to the music. Subtly, to be sure, but he's tapping a foot to the rhythm, his head bopping ever so slightly while he looks over his collection.

"We are living in a material world~" he's singing under his breath when Toby's voice catches his attention. "Hmm? Oh." He comes around to the reading nook. "No, not all of them. But I take very good care of them. It's actually not that hard so long as you don't leave them lying around." Or use the occasional miracle. "Are you enjoying the Wordsworth?"

Toby doesn't notice the humming or the dancing at first, but it's impossible for him not to hear Madonna's lyrics whispered back at him. He grins to himself as he pauses the music after 'Material Girl' finishes, then stuffs his phone back into his pocket so he can address Aziraphale properly. Talk of Madonna can continue after they settle his questions about the books.

"I am," he says with a smile. "I always enjoy Wordsworth and this is a lovely edition." He turns his eyes to the book in his lap for a moment as he turns a page - and his eyebrows immediately hike up into his hair. There's no way he's actually seeing what's in the margins of this page. "I'm not sure I believe you about this not being a hard job, though. There's writing from the poet here, next to the printed words." Nevermind how he knows that as it's not important just yet.

Rising to his feet, Toby quickly makes his way over to the counter Aziraphale is working at and sets the book down in front of the man. "Here." He points to a scribbled note about updates for a second edition printing from Wordsworth, his eyes focused not on the note on the page but on the angel's face. "How do you keep that from fading when this printing is over two hundred years old?"

The best part is that Aziraphale clearly has no idea that he was singing along. Music has a way of worming into the subconscious of even the most genre-picky angels. It's why he knows the melodies to all of Queen's greatest hits.

He returns the smile easily, glad that Toby is enjoying himself, at least up until the point that the young man marches up to the counter, Wordsworth in hand. Swallowing nervously, he pulls a set of spectacles out of his pocket and puts them on. Not so much for the aesthetic as the opportunity to buy himself a little time. "Well, ah..." he looks down at the handwriting. "That could -- that is, it's probably someone else. Who wrote that later."

He's a terrible liar. Made worse by the fact that Toby is staring at him. But what else can he say, really?

Even if Aziraphale wasn't a terrible liar, it would be painfully obvious to Toby. "There's no way that's true. I know this is William's handwriting. I've seen it before." Again he doesn't explain how he knows, but dammit he does! He watched the poet write often enough that it's impossible forget that particular handwriting.

Sighing, Toby flips another few pages until he comes across another note. "See this one here? It's a note about changing a few words in this poem before it's printed again. Changes that were made in the third edition printing because he had a fight with the printers and couldn't get them the money required to change it in time for the second edition."

Wow. They're both bad at keeping secrets today, aren't they?

He winces when his lie is called out. Dammit, just when he was warming up to the boy. Now he was going to have to find some excuse to get him out of the shop. This was the trouble with befriending humans, you couldn't really be friends with them, not when you always had to hide the truth of your --

Wait. What was that? Aziraphale looks up at Toby sharply, replaying the young man's words. Not because they're wrong. Quite the opposite, Aziraphale knows about that fight with the printers. He heard it from Coleridge, in fact. That's why he rushed to buy up a second edition copy, as well.

"Yes, and? How do you know about that?"

...shit. He wasn't supposed to say that bit out loud. Or, well, he was but Aziraphale was supposed to be too flustered to notice.

"I... well, because I..."

Ah Hell. There's no way around this, is there?

"Because he told me about the fight after the second edition was printing. Because I knew William Wordsworth while he was alive." He runs a hand through this hair and rubs the back of his neck nervously. "We weren't exactly friends, but we were good acquaintances who enjoyed each other's company from time to time."

A beat, and he sighs. "...I may be a bit older than I look."

Aziraphale's eyes widen at the admission. He's too astonished to be suspicious, at least not yet. "Really, now? You knew him? How old are you?"

He takes off his glasses, peering at Toby with intense curiosity. He knows that this young -- er, this 'older than he looks' man is not a demon. He would have smelled the sulphur-like residue. (Something Crowley lacks, curiously enough. Or perhaps Aziraphale's nose has grown used to it.) And he can't be another angel, he'd know that, too.

So what does that leave? How can someone have been around since at least the time of Wordsworth? "What are you, then?" he asks, nothing but wonder in his voice.

"Two hundred and eighty six." God that's awkward to say aloud. It's a good thing Dorian wanted to make such a big deal about how old he is so that Toby kept better track of his own age ...or so it feels right now, anyway. Better not to lie about it if he can help it now that he's been found out.

Oh God. This question. Ugh. Here he goes with answering it.

He looks down at the floor between his face and mutters, "I'm a vampire. Undead and all that." That... never gets less awkward to say when he's not showing off.

Aziraphale takes in this information with a thoughtful hum. Not so old, then, compared to an angel. Far older than any human, however. (Reports of Methuselah's age were greatly exaggerated).

But then Toby springs the news that he's a vampire and that look of surprise is back in full force. "A vampire? Truly? I thought they were a myth used to spread hysteria about foreigners..." He blushes a little and adds quickly, "Sorry. I've never met a vampire before. Is that all right, to call you that? Oh my goodness, I never asked you your name, how dreadfully rude of me..."

In all his rambling, he doesn't seem particularly concerned about Toby's undead status. No screams of fright, not reaching for anything wooden and remotely stake-shaped. Instead, he offers a hand. "My name is Aziraphale. And the reason I can keep these books in such good condition is because I'm an angel."

Ah, so that's why.

Edited 2019-07-02 02:17 (UTC)

Well then. If Toby was still feeling awkward about all this, that disappears completely when Aziraphale drops his name and then that he's an angel. What the bloody Hell did he walk into here?

"Uh." It takes him a minute to get over the shock of all of this enough to take the angel's hand and give it a firm, but not overpowered, shake. His hand is as cool as the temperature of the room, which makes it a stark contrast to any human's hand. "Tobias Matthews. Toby, for short." It seems right to give an angel the shorthand for his name, right? He's a messenger or warrior or... something for God after all. Seems a bad idea to piss off God given all his usual luck.

He holds onto Aziraphale's hand for a little longer than he should before he thinks to take it back. "Oh they're very real," he confirms, sticking his hands in his pockets to give them something to do. "My sire was over five hundred years old when he died. For good, I mean." Best to clarify that bit given he's undead. "Not sure how far back into history they go, but there's at least a few of them everywhere you go. We're not much for the daylight though. That turning to ash in the sun bit is truth." One he's intimately familiar with and not going into details about right now.

But... he has to wonder... "So you've... been around a while? I mean, alive or... whatever it is that angel's are?" He's not trying to be awkward, honestly. This is all extremely confusing and parsing his thoughts is becoming harder by the second. There's a lot to take in all at once. "You do work for, uh, God and all that, yeah?" A beat, and he arches an eyebrow quizzically. "Why a bookshop, if you don't mind me asking? Seems odd work for someone who works for God."

If he hadn't already been tipped off, Toby's room temperature hand would have been a big clue. Aziraphale's hand, by contrast, is as warm as the rest of him looks. "Pleasure to meet you, Toby," he replies genuinely. Perhaps later it will occur to him that an angel associating with a vampire is likely in the same camp as associating with a demon, but right now he's too relieved to be able to share his true identity to care.

Besides, what Upstairs doesn't know won't hurt them.

He rests his hands on the counter, listening with intense curiosity to Toby's explanation. "No sunlight. Got it." His gaze flicks to the store's windows, confirming that it is, indeed, nighttime. "I'll admit, I've heard stories on occasion. I have Dracula here, somewhere -- the book, I mean, not... not him. Is there anything else I should be concerned about? Do crosses affect you at all? I don't keep any in the shop."

Aziraphale can't help but quirk a smile at the way Toby phrases his question about age. "I've been around since the beginning, my dear. And yes, I'm alive. All angels are issued a body when they visit Earth. I've had this one for over 6000 years, I'm grown quite accustomed to it."

The matter of the bookshop is a bit harder to answer, even though objectively it shouldn't. "Oh, well... yes, my main task on Earth is to carry out God's will, but, as I'm sure you know, being an immortal around mortals isn't exactly easy, so I came up with the bookshop as a cover of sorts. A bit of a hobby on the side when I'm not performing miracles."

Uh-huh. Hobby. An enormous collection of pristine secondhand books, and he calls it a hobby.

Ugh. Dracula. Cue an eye roll from Toby. "I'm pretty sure he was never real anyway," he notes in a bored tone. "Some mortal probably fell for a vampire and wrote some serial romance that turned into the whole mythos around him once enough people had read it." Why, yes, he is sulking about the fact that most people jump straight to thinking about ~Dracula~ when he tells them he's a vampire. It's so played out these days God damn you Twilight and Toby's not at all interested in answering questions about the days of old where his unnatural heritage is concerned.

"Crosses are also a no, but everything else is fine. I've no troubles with salt, garlic, or holy water." A beat, and he adds thoughtfully, "Well, I think holy water is fine. Never did find out if the stuff I put my hand in was properly prayed over or not." He's going to go with the assumption that it's fine, though. Less things to worry about is good!

Toby's eyes go wide at how casually Aziraphale drops his age. "Six thousand?!" But... wait a second... All those science folks are always talking about how the world is billions of years old and the universe at large even older. "Are you saying the world is only six thousand years old?" He puts up a hand suddenly and shakes his head. "No. Wait. Nevermind. I don't really want to know the answer to that." That opens up a whole new line of thought that he's very much interested in skipping, thanks.

Pristine early edition printings, no less. The vampire doesn't buy it, but who is he to say 'no' to an agent of God? He quirks an eyebrow at the angel and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "So all those books that came directly from the authors... they're simply a side effect of having this bookshop for the past several thousand years?" His tone is more curious than accusatory. He may not really believe this is a simple hobby, but he's still curious as to the why behind this place.

"He was loosely based on Vlad the Impaler," Aziraphale replies thoughtfully. "At least, that's what Bram told me. I'm not really one for those sorts of stories, anyway." He gives Toby an apologetic, understanding look. How many times has an angel appeared in a work of fiction with the details all wrong? He'll try his best not to make assumptions.

"Oh, that is good news about the garlic. Not that I leave it lying about the shop, but I do get Italian take-out on occasion." Garlic bread is one of life's pleasures, so far he's concerned. The mention of holy water has him frowning worriedly. "You should be careful anyway," he insists. "There is holy water, and there is Holy Water. It can melt a demon into non-existence. Don't mess with the stuff if you don't have to."

"Well," he begins, a finger raised, fully prepared to launch into an explanation of the discrepancy, but then Toby cuts him off and he shuts his mouth obediently. It's irrelevant, anyway: science seems to work whether humans know the truth behind it or not.

And then he laughs, a delighted little giggle that seems to light himself up from within. "I'm several thousand years old, the shop has only been around since 1830. Although I have been collecting books for many years before that..." He looks around at his collection and sighs happily. "Oh, but aren't they simply marvelous? To read books is to understand humanity in a way that I simply couldn't before. To step into their shoes, if only so long as the story lasts."

"It's for the best, honestly. There's been some fantastically awful ones over the centuries." And he usually gets to hear about all of them if and when he tells someone what he is. Oh joy! ~~NOT.~~

Toby's stomach metaphorically rumbles at the mention of Italian food. "God, that sounds delicious right now." A beat and a slightly panicked look. "Uh... is it okay for me to say that around you?" It's a standard curse for him, but he doesn't really want to upset an angel?? Satan has already been an absolute pain in his ass in years past and he'd rather like to not have God reach out and smite him where he stands because he uses a certain turn of phrase.

He waves a hand dismissively at the warning. "Yes, yes, I'll take care around any holy men and in churches. I don't tend to deal with either these days anyway. Not many abandoned churches for me to hole up in since I came back a few years ago." Not that he needed a place to live while he and Dorian were together, but he does love the coziness of a well-made church to call his own - once it's been cleared of crosses, that is.

"How'd you manage to keep all the books from before your shop open so keen when you hadn't a place to store them?" The idea of using miracles on books hasn't yet occurred to him. That's a few more minutes of processing off at least. Still, he likes Aziraphale's enthusiasm for books and stories. "They're a great distraction from the world," he agrees with a chuckle. "It's a pity you can't meet Dorian - he absolutely lives for stories."

...oh. Right. He hadn't mentioned that bit about his former lover, did he? Uh... time to fix that? Or at least check in to see if Oscar told the angel about the source material for his most infamous story?

"Did Oscar ever tell you about Dorian?" he asks, trying to keep a casual tone and failing spectacularly. It's hard to be impartial when talking about his soulmate. "Or even hint that the inspiration for his story was real?"

"I'll take your word on that," Aziraphale says kindly.

It's hard to keep the curiosity from showing on his face and the way he leans in a little when Toby talks about himself. He wants to know what is fact and what is fiction, to avoid making some sort of gaffe. But when it is Toby who worries that he has been inappropriate, Aziraphale smiles forgivingly. "Yes, that's fine. I don't smite people, and certainly not for swearing. But does that mean you can eat food?" Honestly, Italian take-away sounds good to him right now, too, and if Toby's up for it, he may very well order some for the both of them. "And sleeping in a church is okay? Your feet don't burn on consecrated ground?"

In answer to the question, Aziraphale playfully wiggles his fingers. "Magic. Or a miracle, in this case. But, as you can see, my collection has expanded over the years."

And then Toby drops another bombshell for the evening. Aziraphale stares at him in surprise. "Dorian Gray was a real person? No, no, Oscar never told me that. Of course, we didn't talk much about his novel. I was more interested in his plays, and he was more interested in..."

He trails off, a blush appearing on his face, before he clears his throat. "I could use something to drink. Would you like a drink as well? Can you drink? I have a small cellar in the back."

This is one part of being a vampire that he's happy to surprise people with, especially when he's hungry. "Food is definitely okay. The greasier the better most nights, but that's a personal preference. I do love a well-made, several course meal when there's good company to enjoy it with, though." It's just been a little harder to find said company since his permanent plus one became less permanent.

"...no?" Is that supposed to be a thing? He's really glad it isn't because he likes being barefoot in his home. "Something about the crosses gets me, but I've never had any issues on church grounds." Which does beg a followup question. "Maybe it has to do with all the crosses being taken out of the church and the place being abandoned?" He has no idea, but anything's possible.

Miracles. Damn that would be useful for his favorite things in the world. "God doesn't get angry with you for that?" Being an angel has some serious perks, apparently.

Guess that is a big 'no' on that one. "Yeah, Dorian is real. He's out there somewhere still, timelessly beautiful as always." And that's all he's going to say about that or he's going to mope and possibly have to share feelings and that is the last thing he wants right now. Luckily, Aziraphale is plenty distracting.

"I can and do drink. Happily so. But I'll only agree to a drink if you tell me more about what Oscar was into." Dorian never went into details about his friend - for good reason, of course - but now that he has a chance to know more from a second source? There's no way Toby's passing that up. "I'll let you pour before you tell me. I understand the need for a bit of intoxication for more... risqué subjects."

Aziraphale lights up at Toby's answer. "I don't need to eat," he says, leaning in a little as if in confession. "But I've developed a taste for certain foods. Sweets, if I'm being totally honest, but I also enjoy savory things. And it is very nice to partake of them with company."

There's nothing he loves more than sitting in a restaurant with Crowley, sharing a meal. (Or rather, him eating the meal and Crowley having a little nibble off his plate and maybe some coffee to wash it down.) They haven't been able to do so lately, too busy with their plan to keep Warlock from starting Armageddon, and he misses it.

"Oh. Well, that's good. Consecrated ground is like walking on hot sand for demons." Now, how does he know that? Sheepishly, he adds, "Sorry to keep comparing you to what affects a demon, it's my only point of reference, I'm afraid. You might be onto something about an abandoned church, that it loses its potency. I'll have to look into it."

Aziraphale's expression turns uncertain and a little sad. "No, She doesn't," he replies. "But Heaven does. Archangel Gabriel and the others. I was cited for using too many 'frivolous' miracles." He huffs and fusses with the hem of his waistcoat. "They don't know what it's like, living on Earth, trying to blend in. I don't think Gabriel has ever read a book..."

He looks away, embarrassed by what he just said so plainly about his superior. Then he looks back, the fact that Toby had his heart broken by Dorian Gray finally sinking in. He wants to say something comforting, but then Toby returns the subject to Oscar, and he's embarrassed by an entirely different reason.

"It's not risqué," he protests. "It's just... personal. But all right, I'll tell you. One moment." God almighty, he can't believe he's doing this, he thinks to himself as he heads off to the cellar for a bottle of Bordeaux and a pair of glasses. He's never even told Crowley about Oscar. (Well, technically Crowley never asked, but whatever.) It's only that Toby is connected to Oscar too, in a strange way, that he's considering it at all.

He comes back, uncorks the bottle with a snap of the fingers (hello, miracle!) and pours out their glasses. "Cheers," he says, clinking his to Toby's, before taking a long draught.

Edited 2019-07-10 01:02 (UTC)

"Sweets are also very good. Chocolates are my favorite in particular, but I've yet to find candy I won't at least try." Some of the saltier ones are strange, but new experiences are something he's always striving for. It's important to take every opportunity for new experiences (that won't kill you) when you're as old as he is.

That little tidbit gets an inquisitive quirk of an eyebrow. "Good friends with a demon or two?" he asks. Not that he's complaining, but now he's curious.

Whoa. Wait. Hang on a second. "I'm sorry. Did you say She? Is God a woman?!" Is he even more incredibly fucked if he pisses off God than he thought?! Sorry Aziraphale, but the rest of your very interesting tidbits are going to have to wait until Toby's got that bit confirmed.

Personal is good, especially when it comes to people he's wanted to know more about for a long time. He's glad he doesn't have to push too hard to get it out of his new friend, though he's interested to see how drunk ~~they~~ he has to get the angel before he'll let it out. The chance to do so is going to come nice and quick at least, because before he has a chance to fully settle into a nearby chair Aziraphale is back with two glasses and ...hang on, how old is that wine? And did he just use a miracle to pull out that cork?

"Cheers," he offers back distractedly. He opens his mouth to ask about the wine and the cork, but the heady scent of the Bordeaux close to his face stops that handily. Slouching back in his seat, Toby takes a long sip and hums his approval as he lets it roll over his tongue.

"Damn. That is a fine vintage. Where'd you manage to find that?" Excuse him while he takes another test sip because that is truly fantastic. When he finishes the sip, he cocks an eyebrow at the other man. "I haven't had something quite like this in years."

Hey, Toby. Did you think Aziraphale was at peak embarrassment before? Nope. "What? No!" he sputters, his cheeks aflame. "That's... that's preposterous. Angels and demons are hereditary enemies. There's no way I could be friends with one. The very idea is utter nonsense."

It hurts to tell this particular lie, but he doesn't have much choice. Nobody can know about his Arrangement with Crowley. Not even Toby. The vampire is nice, someone he'd confess just about anything else to, but he can't risk the information getting out there. If Heaven found out... if Gabriel found out...

He can't risk it. Not for himself and especially not for Crowley.

Thankfully, Toby has a new question, one that he can answer without any shame. "Oh, She's not a woman. She's a she. Just like I'm not a man, I'm an angel. But people see me as male, so I'm a he."

He shrugs. It makes sense to him.

"I keep an eye on wine listings and buy bottles of the ones that will mature well," he replies as he takes a seat opposite Toby. "I got that one... oh, ages ago, at a small winery that was just starting out." He puts the bottle on the end table between them, then takes another long sip from his glass, savoring it this time. Then he sighs, sitting back in his seat while somehow maintaining a decent posture. He isn't one to slouch unless he gets really drunk.

"You didn't know Oscar?" he asks Toby, after a long stretch of silence. "Dorian never introduced you?"

Oh how utterly adorable. "So you're lovers, then?" There is absolutely zero shame and only minor teasing in his voice as he asks this. He's heard about and seen plenty of 'boundary pushing' couples over the centuries, so the idea of an angel and a demon being not only friends but something more? Not really shocking to him.

This is so much deeper an explanation than he was really expecting from all this. God is a woman... but not a woman... And Aziraphale is a man... but not a man... "That is incredibly complicated. I mean, it's not but it also is?" This makes his brain hurt. Good thing there's wine to help?

"You keep your wine cellared and miracle-d properly so you can have it whenever you'd like?" he asks with a chuckle. Look, the angel uses miracles on his books. It's not much of a leap to believe he'd do the same for good wine.

The question is a fair one, but Toby puts off answering it for a long moment to sip at his wine. "I didn't know Dorian back then," he finally says after the silence becomes a bit uncomfortable. "He didn't like to talk about Oscar much outside of the very best things. Even then it was hard to get much for details." He sighs and takes another sip of wine before continuing. "I was in the wrong part of the world to meet Oscar on my own, but I'd like to know more about him. He was important to Dorian... and therefore important to me."

The sound that comes out of Aziraphale's mouth is like a squeak, except much quieter and somehow more distressed than it has any right to be. "I am not going to dignify that with a response," he says sternly, when he finally finds his voice again. "And that is final."

Whew, somebody touched a nerve, there. That blush lingers on his face for quite a while, long after he's calmed himself down and ready to continue their discussion on gender and celestial beings.

"That about sums it up," he says with a small smile. "Angels are sexless, you know. Unless we make an effort."

Toby's question has him raising an eyebrow. "I don't need to miracle the wine, a good cellar works fine on its own. I could theoretically miracle myself a glass of wine whenever I wanted, but it doesn't taste as good."

By this point, he's over halfway into his glass. It helps him settle into the silence, waiting for Toby to answer. It's illuminating, what he says, and it softens his discomfort at revealing something personal about his past. "Something you should know about Oscar," he begins, "Is that he was a very rare individual. He had such a wit about him, and such a lust for life. When you were around him, you couldn't help but get caught up in that fervor. He was so very human. Like Shakespeare, or Sappho. Sometimes I wondered if he knew what I really was, and was only humoring me, letting me pretend that I was human, too."

He pauses, looking down into his glass, his lips curving into a shy smile. "He liked me. He... was enamored with me. That's why I have so many signed first editions of his. There were like little gifts. Favors. And I loved his words so much, so I thought... well? Maybe I'd make the effort?"

He bites his lip, stealing a glance at Toby. "I let him kiss me and... oh, no no. No, it wasn't right at all. I should have known better. He was very gracious about it. We remained friends until he passed away. It was hard losing him. I only really had one other person in my life and he wasn't around then, so..." He sighs and shakes his head. "Sorry... that's probably more than you cared to know."

That's a far more visceral reaction than he was expecting on that particular subject. Apparently sex and relationships are off limits - at least as far as this not-a-friend-but-actually-a-friend demon goes. Toby makes a mental note of that and moves on when Aziraphale does for the sake of everyone's sanity.

He's also going to skip that 'angels are sexless' thing because that requires a far deeper understanding of most everything the angel has said tonight to process. Wow. For what he was thinking would be a quick visit to a shop tonight, this has turned into quite the philosophical evening.

He chuckles about the wine. "You mean wine you've pulled out of thin air doesn't taste the same as a good bottle from the cellar?" Maybe that's a little more teasing than he needs to be, but it's kind of funny to hear an angel be picky about something so common on Earth.

When Aziraphale starts to open up about Oscar, Toby falls silent and keeps himself occupied with slow drinks of his wine. It's incredible to hear more about the author from someone else who knew him, and it all lines up with what Dorian had told him over the years and with what he's read on his own. The man was as witty and complicated as the vampire had imagined him to be - and even more charming than Dorian let on.

Honestly, he'd always assumed that Dorian was always the one to make the first move in the relationship with Oscar, but now he's not completely certain. With no possibility of ever asking, though, he'll let it stay a mystery balanced between the cocky young man he knows Dorian was and the lively man Aziraphale describes to him.

"Never be sorry for sharing what you feel is right," Toby chides gently. "I'm sure it's not often that you get to talk about things like this and I've no one to go tell it to. I asked out of curiosity and pure want of the knowledge, nothing more." It's not a usual thing for the vampire, but in this case, it's very much the truth. Hearing more about Oscar brings him closer to the man, and that in turn keeps Dorian closer to him, if only in secondhand memories. Still, it's something and Toby will take it.

He smiles softly and raises his glass to the angel. "Thank you. I'm grateful you were willing to share this." It's something he'll always treasure, even if he never shares what he's learned with another person for the rest of his infinite life.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Aziraphale replies, twitching his nose a little in annoyance. He might still be a bit touchy from the demon discussion. "Anyway, it's not much trouble to collect good wine. You don't have a cellar of your own?"

He looks up at Toby again when he speaks. His expression shifts to one of relief and gratitude. It is a curious weight that lifts from his shoulders, to share this story with someone, his own little fumbling foray into romance. "There's no one else I could tell this to," he agrees. "My friend, ah..." His blush returns, tinged with a shade of shame. "He wouldn't want to hear it."

Crowley wasn't there, when Aziraphale was friends with Oscar. Crowley was off sulking because Aziraphale wouldn't get him holy water. Crowley had said that he had plenty of people to fraternize with, and that had hurt Aziraphale in a way that even to this day he wasn't completely able to acknowledge.

Maybe things would have been different, after that failed kiss, when he had gone back to his bookshop and drank all night, wondering why he had even bothered to try, if Crowley had been there.

He blinks away the ghosts of could-have-beens and lifts his glass in turn. "Well... thank you for listening." He drains the rest of his glass, then pours himself another. "It's hard befriending humans, they live such short lives. And everything is a lot faster now, I find I don't have as much to talk to them about these days."

He smiles ruefully at the question. "Not anymore. I'm more of a scotch man myself and all the best wines I had came from Dorian's cellar." ...yeah, that's a pattern that's not about to drop. Part of the perks and disadvantages of not being able to live with the person you love anymore: they always come up in conversation when you don't want them to.

"Why not? If he's your friend, he should want to know what awkwardness to avoid in the future, yeah?" It also says a lot about who Aziraphale is as a person (if Toby's allowed to think that way about an angel) when he tells the story. Sure, it's embarrassing, but some of the best stories are. Besides, what's embarrassment in the long run to an immortal? "Besides, if he's a good friend, the two of you can have a laugh about it and move on together." Bonus points for that, right?

As the angel pours himself another round, the vampire offers over his mostly-empty glass to get topped off. It's so strange to meet anyone who drinks faster than he does. Guess the story about Oscar made Aziraphale more uncomfortable than he even let on?

"Mortals are best kept at a distance unless absolutely necessary. We can hurt them with our ways, but they can't even begin to imagine the ways their loss can hurt us." Three hundred years is more than enough experience for him to know that for sure. Add to that his own experience with death and dealing with his lover's reaction and Toby's got the trifecta of understanding he wishes he didn't have. "They're good for short term things - concerts, sex, and the like - but I find it harder than ever to let any of them in. After losing Dorian..." He sighs and downs half his glass without taking a breath.

"I haven't been close to anyone since. You're the first person I've been able to talk to for years." A frown tugs at his lips and he has to resist the urge to reach into his pocket for a smoke. Lighting up sounds great in everything but practice because, well, books. "Been a while since I've met another immortal who didn't also want to kill me by virtue of what I am."

"Ah, I see..." He looks away apologetically, reminding himself why Oscar came up in the conversation in the first place. Though he's never had his heart broken, he relates to Toby's pain in a very visceral away. Maybe it's that feeling of how when someone is important to you, you see pieces of them everywhere, whether you're looking for them or not. "Well, I have scotch, too, if you should ever fancy some."

On the subject of his friend, Aziraphale shakes his head. "No," he says rather firmly. "No, it would be a bad idea. There are certain things we don't talk about, anyway, best to leave it alone." They managed to repair their friendship, and so long as they can successfully avoid the Apocalypse, they can stay friends. He'd rather not disrupt that balance.

He tops off Toby's glass without a second thought. It's easy to drink quickly when one can sober up at a moment's notice, although he does slow down with this second glass, now that the conversation has moved on.

It's weird to think how only a short time ago, he didn't believe in vampires, and yet now he's sharing a drink with one and finding that they have a lot in common by virtue of both being immortal. His heart can't help but go out to him, either. For all the complications that come with it, Aziraphale at least has Crowley in his life. Toby doesn't have anyone.

"Well... here's to finding me, then!" He smiles brightly, his irrepressible optimism bubbling up to the surface. "You can come visit me anytime, Toby."

"Maybe after this bottle of wine?" he suggests. He likes scotch a little too much these days, so it seems best to hold back at least a little bit. If the scotch is as good as this wine is, though, Toby will actually want to enjoy drinking it rather than drink it to forget. It'll take some effort, but Aziraphale makes it surprisingly easy to focus on the moment rather than the constant ache in his chest. Something about the angel's constant return to positivity that Toby can't quite put his finger on. It's pleasant coming from his new friend, even as it's something he normally dislikes when he encounters it in humans.

That deflection is also rather quick. There's obviously more going on between Aziraphale and his demon 'friend', but it's not something that's going to come out tonight. Probably for the best - Toby's never been good at romantic relationships and he doesn't know either of the celestial beings involved enough to offer much help. "Choice is yours, mate, and I'm sure the two of you have plenty to talk about either way."

There's that optimism again. The vampire chuckles at the endearing display and raises his glass to clink it to Aziraphale's. "But only after dark," he jokes, flirting with the angel in spite of himself. "I promise I'll be on my best behavior every time so I can have my way with your books."

He smiles benevolently. "Of course." A pause, then he suggests, "Some take-away, too, if you're interested? How, ah... how often do you need to drink blood? Does eating food interfere with that at all?" He doesn't want to disrupt Toby's metabolism, whatever that entails.

Toby's words draw out a chuckle from him that is far more wry than his usual laughter. "Yes, you could say that." They have an Apocalypse to avert, and the clock is ticking down quickly. Although it does at least help Aziraphale to concentrate on the task at hand and not let his mind wander too much in Crowley's presence.

The angel is a fount of optimism. This is the same person who told Hamlet to buck up with a bright smile. And so he does now, any implication of flirting sailing right above that fluffy blond head of his. "If the door's closed, just knock. My hours tend to vary." He has a whole paragraph about it hanging on his door, and even then, he doesn't always follow his set hours. Toby lucked out on coming here when it was open the first time.

With anyone other than an angel, this would be an uncomfortable conversation topic for Toby. As Aziraphale is genuinely curious and trying to be careful of his needs, this isn't all that bad. "Take away would be great. Can we do Italian, like you mentioned before? I don't actually need to eat human food, but I enjoy the hell out of it." He takes a sip of his wine before adding, "I only need blood once a week or so to survive. Having it more often doesn't change much and anything else I have in between meals, like Italian food or good wine, doesn't affect my body in the same way. I can, however, get fantastically drunk if I want to." Which is great up until the hangover. That part isn't quite so fun.

The vampire looks over at Aziraphale with a cocked eyebrow. "What happens if I stop by and you're not in? Have you got a spare key I can borrow? A number I can call you at?" All very important things for Toby to know when he wants this to be a semi-regular thing. There are so many books to read and hand-written notes therein to find. He could spend weeks looking through just a few sections and still be certain he hasn't seen them all, and that means he needs to be allowed in as often as possible.

He listens to Toby's explanation raptly, committing to memory the needs of his new friend. He doesn't dwell on the darker implications of a being that needs to drink blood to survive. It's like asking a mermaid or a centaur what special dietary restrictions they have, no real judgement on his part.

"Yes, of course. How much are you able to eat? I usually get some garlic bread and an order of chicken piccata. The noodles are handmade and are simply divine."

It's when Toby asks about a spare key that he's forced to take those implications into account. Not that he doesn't want Toby to visit when he can, but he hates to think what might happen if Gabriel or another angel decides to stop by. It's enough of a risk to have Crowley hanging around, but Crowley knows when to be scarce. He'd hate for something to happen to Toby because he showed up at the wrong time.

"I can give you the store's number. One moment." He sets aside his wine and gets up, heading to his desk. Within a few seconds, he has a number written on a scrap of paper that he passes along to Toby.

"If I'm not in..." He trails off as he sits down, his shoulders heavy, as if something is pressing down on him. "If I'm not in, it's not a good idea to be here. I'll be away on angel business. In fact, if there's ever a moment that I tell you that you need to leave, I hope you'll trust me and not stick around. Gabriel sometimes pops by unannounced." Gabriel would smite a vampire on sight, he's sure of it. Or tell Aziraphale that he has to do it. The thought makes him sick, and that unease shows up on his face. Please trust him on this, Toby.

"As much as a man who looks my age can," he laughs. "Grab some extra garlic bread and the house recommended specialty for me? I'd be content with most anything, provided there's still some wine left by the time we get it." Red wine goes so much better with Italian food than scotch. He, uh, might know from experience.

His brow furrows as he takes the paper from Aziraphale. He hadn't expected it would be a problem for him to come and go as he pleases, but he also hadn't considered what other angels might think of him. He's not a demon, exactly, but he is a soulless undead monster. That would be more than enough to set a few folks of a holier type off, which it appears his angel friend is seriously worried about given the look on his face.

There's a moment of shock that hangs in the air as that last bit sets in, though. "The Gabriel? Archangel and warrior of God? You know him?" A beat. "How many angels are there up there?" He's not sure he actually wants to know the answer to that, but the surprise is overriding the 'don't actually want to know' response at the moment.

Aziraphale's smile is strained. "He's my boss, Toby. Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel. Archangels. They're in charge of running the Great Plan."

The question of how many angels takes a long moment to answer, one he buffers with a sip of wine. "The Heavenly Host is vast. There used to be more of us, but there was a war, and some of them Fell and became demons. Most angels don't walk upon the Earth like I do. They pop down for a miracle or two -- make a grand spectacle of it to leave people talking. Burning bushes, dreams of ladders, that sort of thing. Then it's back up to Heaven."

Or at least the part of Heaven where angels tread on hoverboards. He takes another sip of wine, clearly uncomfortable, but in a distinctly different way from talk of his "friend" or his relationship with Oscar.

He sets down his glass and puts on a smile of forced cheer. "Anyway, takeaway. I'll go order that now. And don't worry about the wine, I can always open another bottle."

Wow. That's a lot more about angels and archangels than Toby ever would've guessed. There's also hints at other things that he's really not ready to ask about or get clarification on, so he's glad when Aziraphale shifts gears. Now he can skip having to tell the angel not to bother and stunt the conversation with the sudden change of pace.

"Got a few bottle stashed away?" he jokes with a laugh. "In that case, we should open a second once you've ordered so it can breathe properly before our food arrives." He grins and takes a sip of his wine before nodding at Aziraphale. "Off you go. I'll wait here with Wordsworth. William always could keep me good company when I needed to give someone a minute." He takes the book from his lap and wiggles it in the angel's direction. It's obvious he needs a moment to collect himself, so Toby wants to let him have it. They've got all night to talk; A short break isn't going to change the pace of anything.

It is very kind of Toby to let the subject drop, even if it's out of a self-preservation for the vampire's own sanity. By the time he's on his feet, his smile has turned genuine. "My dear, I have all the bottles." A bit of an exaggeration, but there's no need to worry about them running out of alcohol any time soon. "I'll open another one to breathe after I call out for our food."

He acknowledges the book with a nod of his head. Funny how that's what brought Toby here in the first place. He's glad he didn't manage to successfully shoo him out. He heads off to the phone on the store's counter, and soon enough, with good food and more drink, they spend the rest of the night talking as only two people who have walked the Earth as long as they have can.

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A vampire walks into an angel's bookshop...

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