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 a spot of spring cleaning, Tag: John Constantine
Aziraphale
 Posted: Nov 14 2017, 01:49 PM
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Aziraphale




is online


years old / N/A posts




.zmbox { width: 320px; background-color: #252628; padding: 20px 40px 40px 40px; }.zmlyr1 { font-family: la belle aurore; font-size: 19px; color: #dddddd ; text-align: center; padding-top: 10px; }.zmlyr2 { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }.zmmain { height: 200px; padding: 0px; border-top: 1px solid #9a9a9a ; border-bottom: 1px solid #dddddd ; }.zmpb { height: 200px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 0 10px; line-height: 125%; color: #ccc; }.zmbb { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }.tcred { text-transform: uppercase; text-align: right; width: 400px; }.tcred a {font-family: calibri; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; }.zmpb::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background-color: #dddddd }.zmpb::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 8px; background-color: #252628; }between here and the end of the universe....LOADS OF BUGGERALL, DEAR BOY Aziraphale hated noticing things. Noticing things usually meant noticing things that went wrong, and he knew what happened there. Oh yes. Some poor bastard had to get on and fix it - and that poor bastard was usually him. Like the apocalypse, for example. He and Crowley had had to deal with that because no one else wanted to. And how had that ended up? A baby swap that went wrong, that's what. Aziraphale had never particularly liked kids, but after spending eleven long years half-raising a kid that wasn't even remotely the Antichrist he could say he hated them. That birthday party had been bloody scarring. Plus a shootout at an old convent and possessing a TV evangelist and quite frankly he never wanted to get involved with anything ever again. Quite enough excitement, thank. You. Very. Much. So of course, yesterday evening, his eyes had skimmed over the top of his shop when he'd come home with a Granny's hot cocoa in a paper cup and a newspaper. And he'd seen the sign overhead, grimy and not cleaned since he had gotten into Storybrooke, and he just sighed and thought not again. Yes, again. So it just so happened that he was perched on top of a ladder outside his front door, a sponge in one hand, a bucket looped on the elbow of the other and wearing, to compliment all of these fashion statements, a superbly bad mood. Taking a moment to steady himself he dipped the sponge in the bucket, squeezed, and then began to clean in long steady strokes across the front sign. Water rained down onto the pavement as he scrubbed at the paint. Honestly. Couldn't get the staff nowadays. Had to do everything himself, like it or not. Even the most menial of tasks, surely below him, had to be done by yours truly. He scrubbed a little harder, trying to shift a particularly stubborn spot of dirt. No no no. Just him. Him and the shop. He could do it by magic, but what was the point of that? It was just like clothes. He had a moral obligation to buy clothes, of course - keeping up the local economy and all that, supporting your nearest supplier of tartan print and '50s revival costumes - but he didn't magically repair those, either. You could tell the stain was still there, under it all. You could just tell. Same with the sign. Nope - this needed elbow grease. Good old fashioned hard work. Knock knock.Aziraphale stared at the sign in front of him, sopping wet and soaking with soap suds. He exhaled, the look of several thousand years of soul sucking retail work behind his eyes. "Here we go again," he said, under his breath. You'd think, he thought to himself, that people wouldn't need to look up magical books anymore. Everyone came from magical places, didn't they? They didn't need him. And there was a library. And another shop. What did they need to come to him for? Yet here they were. Earth and its mother, it would seem. It would be an awful, awful thing for an angel to hide from people who needed his help. Really awful. Probably morally compromising in some way, because this was someone who wanted help and probably couldn't do without it too. So obviously, Aziraphale would never dream of such a thing. But the thought did occur to him that if he stayed very still maybe he wouldn't be....ah, noticed. No such luck, of course. Not on top of a ladder in plain view. Still, you couldn't blame him for at least considering the option. Or pretending to be acutely deaf. "For God's sake," Aziraphale muttered, getting down with a creak that he was pretty sure didn't come from the stair. He lowered himself by a few steps, not coming off entirely - he wasn't ready to walk away from this job, anyway. Getting down equalled commitment. "You - yes, you!" He pointed a bony finger towards the person below. The bucket hooked over his arm sloshed back and forth as he moved. Some customer, he had no doubt - they better not just want to browse. He waved to get their attention. "Hello. Have you seen the sign?" He teetered off the stairs to look at the door, craning his neck a little to peer at the letters written on the tiny sign. "I think you'll find it says - " He cut himself off. In fact, the sign on the front was a cheerful 'OPEN' in cheery letters. Just to add insult to injury the letters were bright red, bolded and in capitals, just to make it really clear that the shop was in fact open. He grumbled something under his breath about legal requirements and made a quick gesture. The sign promptly turned itself around so it showed 'CLOSED'. And a very defiant 'CLOSED' sign it was too. "There," he muttered. He looked to the stranger and cleared his throat, still hanging on for dear life from the ladder. "It says 'closed'," he said, as if it had been like that all the time. Obviously. ADD.: John Constantine | WORDS: 857 | NOTES: ♛ Ames
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John Constantine
 Posted: Dec 15 2017, 02:54 PM
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Constantine

Sector 2814

Bach is online


35 years old / 50 posts





As the days had turned to weeks and the weeks to months since John's unplanned unintended arrival in Storybrooke, thinking back on that first month felt almost like another lifetime now, even though it was really only been around nine months. Portals weren't entirely alien to him of course, though having one open up and suck you into it in the middle of performing a ritual to cast out a demon hadn't been very convenient. Not to mention magic being weird and wonky, that had taken a good few months to properly get the hang of, made him feel like some teenager first learning magic.. Some things had worked right away, but weren't as powerful, other things just wouldn't work at all or blew up in his face. At one point that was quite literally the case, when he tried to open a portal back to his realm, but instead he started a fire and blew out all the glass in the room at the Inn he had rented. Something seemed to be preventing portals from working as they were supposed to, which only made John equal parts frustrated and curious.

Finally realising he'd have to find some way to make money around, he found a space where he could start an occult shop, not that he wanted to really work at a shop, or sell things, or deal with people every day, but it was something he knew and in the process maybe he could figure out what was going on around Storybrooke. It wasn't as if John actually dealt much in the way of magic, not like the bloke at the pawn shop with his deals and such. John's store was more informational, books and such specifically on magic and the occult, along with your typical tarot cards, Ouija boards and such. Amulets, protection stones, odds and ends of things. It hadn't been easy putting it all together, but it was shaping up.

As he was doing some inventory, he suddenly remembered a book he had back in his realm in the bunker he had. Not that it was something he'd want to sell, but it had some things in it he wanted to look up for something, and it was suddenly annoying him he didn't have it. It was an old book on the occult, not something that would be in just any sort of book store or library. He remembered seeing a sign for a book store that he'd yet to go into, but seemed to recall the girl from the pizza place mentioning that it had a lot of really old books and manuscripts in it.

He tossed on his coat, lit up a cigarette and headed down the block to the book store, he stopped as he was about to cross the street to watch the older looking man on a ladder telling someone by the door to the shop that it was closed even though the sign said open, then the sign turned itself around seemingly to the closed sign. The man who had been trying to go in shrugged and walked away, but John just smirked, seemed he wasn't the only one in town that had a store that didn't care to really sell anything or be open. He took a drag on his cigarette and walked across the street, using magic of his own to make the sign turn back around to open. As he got by the ladder he smirked again and looked up at the bloke on the ladder.

"You sure you're closed mate? The sign seems to suggest you're open......"



tag Aziraphale // notes: Hunting for a very old book


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Aziraphale
 Posted: Dec 29 2017, 05:24 PM
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Aziraphale




is online


years old / N/A posts




.zmbox { width: 320px; background-color: #252628; padding: 20px 40px 40px 40px; }.zmlyr1 { font-family: la belle aurore; font-size: 19px; color: #dddddd ; text-align: center; padding-top: 10px; }.zmlyr2 { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }.zmmain { height: 200px; padding: 0px; border-top: 1px solid #9a9a9a ; border-bottom: 1px solid #dddddd ; }.zmpb { height: 200px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 0 10px; line-height: 125%; color: #ccc; }.zmbb { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }.tcred { text-transform: uppercase; text-align: right; width: 400px; }.tcred a {font-family: calibri; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; }.zmpb::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background-color: #dddddd }.zmpb::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 8px; background-color: #252628; }between here and the end of the universe....LOADS OF BUGGERALL, DEAR BOY The man seemed confused for a moment. "The sign was..." Aziraphale gave him a pleasant, amicable smile. Behind that smile? Patience, and a sense that he could swear blind by anything other than a blatant lie for as long as he needed to. "Excuse me?" he minced. "The sign was what?" There was a momentary pause and the man then shrugged and walked away, and the angel watched him go, his smile dropping from his face. He turned back to his sponge and his water and the overhead sign, shaking his head to himself. Visitors. Always getting in the way......And coming back. For a moment the angel, hard at work with the sign, didn't realise that there was not just one but two of the blighters heading down the street. When he heard footsteps he stared resolutely at the sign he was cleaning, clearing up some of the suds from trailing down the wood. But at the man's words he frowned. Could people not read? He turned to look at him, the ladder creaking under him. "I don't know what you mean," he replied, giving the same wide-eyed look that, ideally, should come across as innocent, just as it had before. Whether Aziraphale had ever looked innocent in his life was up for debate, but the matter was out of his mind as he looked to the sign itself with a hint of smugness. But when he turned to look he teetered precariously on his ladder. Sure enough it was back to open again, and an irritating open sign it was too. He looked between the man and the sign. Sign. Man. Sign. The dots joined up in his head. "Erk." With a nod towards the door the sign turned around back to 'closed', and the angel looked to the newest irrit - visitor with a considerable amount of interest, if that of a particularly tetchy kind for someone who had magic and, most importantly, knew how to use it. Most annoying. As was mate and the man's smoking at that, which Aziraphale always got twitchy about around his books. But he had his own concerns to worry about, for the moment. It was the smirk that concerned him more. "Yes," he said stiffly. "Well - " He checked himself. "Depends. But the sign doesn't run the shop, I think you'll find." He squeezed the sponge and narrowly missed getting some of the water down himself, which somewhat spoilt the delivery of that line. He was, however, looking straight to the stranger. Another person with magic. Interesting. ADD.: John Constantine | WORDS: 425 | NOTES: ♛ Ames
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John Constantine
 Posted: Feb 7 2018, 01:07 PM
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Constantine

Sector 2814

Bach is online


35 years old / 50 posts





John couldn't help but smirk at the man, he found it a bit amusing, and rather felt like he had met a kindred spirit in the older man trying to wash his store sign. The guy could clearly do magic though, so John wasn't entirely sure why he wasn't just using magic to clean the sign to begin with. Seems like it'd be easier, then again it's also something John wouldn't bother with doing, with or without magic. He imagined his sign hadn't been cleaned up since he moved into the store and opened shop. Not that it had been that long, he hadn't been in Storybrooke nearly as long as some people had.

"Not sure I'd trust a sign that could do all that any way." He paused and glanced around, not too many people out and about today. He almost felt bad asking about the book he wanted, since it was so clear that the guy didn't even want to be open let alone dealing with customers, but even if he couldn't buy the book he'd like to at least read it if it were available. He took another drag on his cigarette.

"Look mate, I realise you probably don't want to be open dealing with all the poor sods and tossers that want to peruse your shop, and normally I'd hate to bother you because I understand, some days I don't even remember to turn the lights on at my shop. I really am looking for a very specific book though, very old very rare, something that I used to have in my possession but don't since I fell through the portal. Thought since you deal in old books, you might have it lying about somewhere......." He shrugged impassively and took another drag on his cigarette. He wanted the book sure, but it was no skin off his nose if the bloke didn't have it or did and just didn't want to part with it.



tag Aziraphale // notes: Hunting for a very old book


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Aziraphale
 Posted: Feb 14 2018, 05:52 AM
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Aziraphale




is online


years old / N/A posts




.zmbox { width: 320px; background-color: #252628; padding: 20px 40px 40px 40px; }.zmlyr1 { font-family: la belle aurore; font-size: 19px; color: #dddddd ; text-align: center; padding-top: 10px; }.zmlyr2 { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }.zmmain { height: 200px; padding: 0px; border-top: 1px solid #9a9a9a ; border-bottom: 1px solid #dddddd ; }.zmpb { height: 200px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 0 10px; line-height: 125%; color: #ccc; }.zmbb { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }.tcred { text-transform: uppercase; text-align: right; width: 400px; }.tcred a {font-family: calibri; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; }.zmpb::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background-color: #dddddd }.zmpb::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 8px; background-color: #252628; }between here and the end of the universe....LOADS OF BUGGERALL, DEAR BOY Hopefully this man would get the message and bugger off. Aziraphale had signs to wash and a hopefully peaceful day ahead, if people didn't get in his way, and one that didn't involve customer service. Back in the day, of course, there had been no such thing as customer service. In the dodgy parts of London it was customer service enough to not get pickpocketed while you were searching through the merchandise - if you weren't stabbed in an alleyway trying to get the thing home (which strictly wasn't Aziraphale's responsibility and technically didn't have anything to do with him). Standards were pretty low. Now it wasn't just a matter of crime and punishment but instead all customer satisfaction and consumer ratings and he didn't want anything to do with that. It was all far too much effort for what was a fancy way of just storing all of his possessions that in the small print HQ didn't allow him to have - but that he kept under the excuse of 'stimulating the local economy' and 'influencing supply and demand'. Hoarding, in other words, but that didn't look good on the forms he'd had to fill out. But this customer was clever. He had magic, and that tended to make things a pinch more difficult, especially when he kept fiddling with the sign. Aziraphale wasn't the most chuffed to say the least by this development; he stubbornly carried on washing his sign with a healthy portion of passive aggressiveness, as if determined to wash both the dirt and the customer away down the drain. Maybe, just maybe, he'd get the hint. Mate. And still with the cigarettes. Good Lord, and Aziraphale meant that most sincerely. "Oh I wouldn't call them that," he said conscientiously, wholeheartedly aware that 'sod' was the least of what he called them on an almost daily basis in the privacy of his own mind. Well, just because he did it..."I'd hate to bother you because I understand, some days I don't even remember to turn the lights on at my shop." Ah, he had a shop, did he? "Yes." Aziraphale gave a patient smile, hoping that he would take his own hint and get on his bike. If he had a shop he had to know what having customers around was like. Off you go then. An brief moment of conversation that hardly earned its weight in gold, but now they could both go their separate ways. He'd already brushed off one customer this morning - he might as well get a streak going, however politely he had to nudge them away. It wasn't that he disliked people, per se. He certainly wouldn't harm them - both because he found it distasteful and also because he had a rather binding contract in that field. They just got underfoot, and seemed to appear exactly when he was busy. The one time he was doing absolutely nothing there wasn't a person in sight. He was just rather studious and preferred his own company. But no. "I'm afraid I'm not open for - Aziraphale cut himself off, realising what he'd said. "What sort of book?" He stayed up his ladder, but his interest was undoubtedly piqued. People who just came in clearly not knowing books at all, and in some cases unable to read, were the most irritating customers of all. But someone who knew what he wanted was both a threat, if he had the book to begin with, and intriguing. Hm. Someone who knew books almost as well as he did. Slowly his circular movements on the sign began to slow, and then halted as the beady, concentrated interest of a magpie spotting a new shiny trinket came into his eyes. Very old, very rare. They were like music to the ears of the collector. This collector, at any rate. "I thought you might have it about somewhere..." "Possibly," he said cagily. "I keep a lot of old and rare books. One has to be specific." To say he was mildly interested was an understatement. He took two steps down the ladder, trying to hide his blatant enthusiasm - but it was clear that his inclination was to practically open the shop up and flow a red carpet down the steps. "Genre? Date of publication?" ADD.: John Constantine | WORDS: 712 | NOTES: ♛ Ames
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