xii. written

[heloise]

[ Lucrezia writes in curled letters, more like pictures than text, a little poetry or is it a riddle? ]

πόλυ πάκτιδος ἀδυμελεστέρα χρύσω χρυσοτέρα


[ Meanwhile she is at the laundry room, seated on the floor with her light green gown spread about her. She has both hands on one machine, watching the colors spin through the glass with amazement on her face. Yellows, blues, greens and purples! ]

[ trans.; than the lyre, far sweeter in tone than gold, more golden. ]

Comments

[onlyanapple]

He seems to think he is.

[heloise]

And does this angel have a name?

[onlyanapple]

Aziraphale. Bit of a mouthful, I know, but there you go.

[heloise]

[ She chuckles. ] Then I've met your angelic friend. He invited me over for tea.

[onlyanapple]

Oh really? Sounds about right or him, really. Big lover of tea.

[heloise]

I've never had it before then. It was lovely.

[onlyanapple]

I hope he didn't bore you too much. He tends to ramble.

[heloise]

He has a charming way of rambling.

[onlyanapple]

And it's exactly that sort of attitude that makes him impossible to get rid of.

[heloise]

Until the castle sent him home?

[onlyanapple]

I...well, yeah.

But he'll come back. He always does.

[heloise]

I hope so too.

[onlyanapple]

He usually shows up once a year or so, for anything from 3 months to a year. I've got used to it by now, really.

[heloise]

I will invite him for tea when next he comes, and you would be welcome, Crowley.

[onlyanapple]

I might just take you up on that, Lucrezia.

[heloise]

As I hope you will.