judges

Jan. 12th, 2014 02:26 pm
footnote: (delight)
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Good morning.

[It's a little after eight in the morning, and a cheery voice can be heard dictating to anyone who might be listening - and mostly likely a few people who would rather not be listening at all.]

I have a proposition to put to you, an offer of employment, as it were. I require someone to act as a guide for me, six days a week, from eight in the morning until nine, and then six in the evening until seven. I feel that for two hours work a day, that fifty caisos a week should be adequate compensation. Though, now I come to think about it, it's interesting...

[It's a rule of the universe that whenever someone says 'now I come to think about it, it's interesting' that whatever follows will be distinctly uninteresting. The level of how uninteresting it is, is determined on a scale where things such as names1 and occupations2 were taken into account. Aziraphale ranked a four on this scale, having a very interesting name and a very boring profession.]

In a place where we can simply wish for what we need, including more money, the notion of compensation through monetary means becomes almost null and void. In a society where money loses all value, surely a fiscal system of trade becomes more plausible? Exchanging goods and services for things that others own, or can do, in return. Perhaps remuneration for such a position would be better offered in barter, though what could be given in return would surely depend upon the employee's own needs and wishes.

Ah-- I'm sorry, I got a little distracted, what was I saying? ...Oh yes! If you are interested in the position, please come to the lobby any time this morning for an interview.

Thank you.

[And, true to his word, Aziraphale has set up a little table in one corner of the lobby with chairs either side to represent a proper interview situation.]

1. The information becomes much less interesting the closer to the end of the spectrum where Nigels, Cecils, and Eugenes reside.

2. Similarly the information tends to be less interesting if the speaker is employed as a chartered accountant, tax specialist, or nutritional expert. Or TV presenter.

deuteronomy

Dec. 6th, 2013 05:10 pm
footnote: (rabbit in the hat)
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As I'm sure you've all noticed by now, Christmas is coming! That shouldn't be a cue for all the doom and gloom I've been hearing, it should be a time for celebration and joy. It's a time for gift giving and magic for youngsters, of sweets and delicious food, and... of course, of entertainment!

I'm afraid I can't stretch to a whole pantomime here in the castle, but I hope you will all join me for an evening of fun with The Astonishing Magical Mister Phale!1 I shall be holding it in the lobby from seven this evening, in front of the Christmas tree. So come along, don't let a little mistletoe spoil your festive season!

[The voice over the journals today sounds almost criminally chirpy. Christmas was, in a word, A Very Big Deal2. Or, at least, it was supposed to be for those of celestial descent. Aside from the bog-standard Hosannas an celebrations, there was also the Party and the Audit - two very different traditions of equal ability to cause annoyance and irritation all round. The Audit was the yearly performance review of angelic business; taking into account the souls saved, the good deeds done, and all round saintliness, and it was done via several intricate forms that would have made anyone from the Chippenham Council Planning Offices weak at the knees. The Party was, as the name so cunningly implies, a party for the birthday boy himself.

Every year Aziraphale would receive his standard invitation, usually done in some tasteful black card with silver lettering, and every year he had to find another excuse not to attend. The event was Not His Scene, and the last time he had been forced to make an appearance in 1956, Jesus hadn't appreciated his gift of a nice new bread-maker machine, and had embarked on a long rant about how sick he was of people still making jokes about the loaves and fishes incident.

This year Aziraphale didn't have to ignore the invitation, because it was unlikely that even the Royal Mail could deliver cross dimensionally to a magical castle. Which meant he could enjoy the good things about the festive season3, without having to go through either the Audit or the Party. That was surely enough to make even Scrooge crack a grin.]


1. Ever since his decision on this stage name in the mid-1960s, it had always made people smile. Aziraphale remained ignorant that this was due to the unfortunate similar sound to 'fail' and nobody had been kind enough to clue him in yet.

2. This is actually four words, but 'Christmas in four words' sounds far less impressive. If you like, you can run the words together to make the saying more accurate.

3. The good things being eating one more Quality Street well after any trouser buttons are already protesting, and the post snooze game of Monopoly which almost always ended in the demon and angel not talking again until the New Year.

[ooc: Open for journals or action, he can be found practising in the lobby or come along to the evening show! Also open for kisses, if anyone wants them.]

leviticus

Oct. 26th, 2013 05:27 pm
footnote: (good golly gumdrops!)
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[Dictated]

[Some kind soul had finally taken pity on the angel wandering around town looking for a bookshop he simply couldn't see, and led him right to the front door that seemed to somehow mysteriously materialise when someone else took him to it.

Having thanked them profusely and sent them on their way (after all, he didn't want to risk them becoming a potential customer), he started to sort through his stock. Oh, it was a little dusty, and a little damp from two years absence, but there was still something rather familiar to it. So familiar that he found himself not paying that much attention to what he was doing, instead focused on that feeling.

Which is how the journal came to fall out of his hand when a massive pile of books toppled over and clonked him right on the head. The only sound through the journal for a long time is crashing, thudding, and the occasional yelp of pain.

Before...]


Oh. Oh good gracious, I remember...

genesis

Oct. 2nd, 2013 09:41 pm
footnote: (huh?)
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[There are some things that a self-confessed bibliophile can't do, and one of those is wake up to see a never-before-seen book nearby without investigating it1, which is why Aziraphale's initial concern about waking up somewhere foreign is swallowed almost at once in examining the journal on his bedside.

There were so many entries to read through, and most of them talking about things that seemed ludicrous. Magic castles? Wishes? Losses? It was all utter nonsense, worse than the time he had accidentally picked up a Mills and Boon instead of a Dickens2. He was fairly certain it was some strange collaborative writing process, though that didn't explain how he was stood in an actual castle right now.]


Excuse me?

[The voice that comes through the book is hesitant in the same way a grandmother being taught to use the latest mobile telephone and doesn't quite trust that it won't accidentally short circuit is hesitant.]

If somebody would be so kind as to direct me to the nearest television set? I hate to intrude for such a request, but Countdown starts in just five minutes and I don't want to miss it.

[He has decided to just ignore this nonsense for now. After all, if you just told reality what for in a stern enough tone, then it might buck its ideas up and start behaving again. He was sure he heard that somewhere. Or perhaps that had been about how to make naughty children behave instead of reality? Either way, it seemed a good idea.]

1. The others include such things as owning at least one store away anorak, and tutting at people who didn't own library cards.

2. That had been the one and only time he had tried to order books using the newfangled automated telephone system. He had written a sternly worded letter to the head office about it, and had received another Mills and Boon as compensation.
thwarting: ([angry] rawr)
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[Hope you weren't planning to sleep in this morning, Paradisa, as there's a rather loud and angry exclamation over the journals at around six in the morning.]

BLAST YOU, EVIL CONTRAPTION!

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Paradisa

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