Oh, of all the ridiculous--! Begrudgingly he does appreciate the level of showmanship. Tyzias doesn't do things halfway. It's--
Breathtaking. She's changing. Or maybe she's showing herself for what she really is for the first time: something dangerous and perhaps a little frightening, but not, either,...because she's their friend.
I can't turn back the clock. I've changed too much for that. And I can't pretend that this place won't change me more.
Her words ring so true to him. He has no idea what she has become or who she has been all this time, underneath her facade of chaotic bookish brilliance. She's something else, something otherworldly and Aziraphale feels like he's known--maybe always has known that she is something beyond comprehension, even if he still can't say what. Maybe that had been part of their draw to each other in the first place--two otherworldly beings trying to suppress and hide what they are.
Is she a demi-god? An eldritch beast? Her own world's equivalent of an angel or a demon--or both? Both, perhaps. That she's there holding the legendary sword of Arthur in one hand and a draconic, monstrous sword in the other seems to imply she's something of a balance. Or not a balance, because balance suggests a canceling out (and the angel knows a great deal about that), but a decision. She is both sides of a coin and she's the Decision. She is Change. She is a tipping of scales.
Which means they, too, have a decision to make.
He's so very proud of them (he almost thought I'm so very proud of the humans but they aren't human, now are they? They're an odd assortment of people and maybe that makes the willingness to work together all the grander. In any case, the angel is so very proud of the lot of them and he probably has no reason to be, but he's still...very pleased).
In particular, he looks over at Kaiba extending hand and gives a warm smile. You're trying so hard, young man. They all are. They've tried to be such islands. Tyzias, of all people, has brought them together.
And when he looks up at Crowley, his own face is still a bit pink from the rush of the kiss to his hand--a public acknowledgment of something left unspoken and mostly unchanged for centuries. "I feel like change hasn't come naturally to me," he says as the start of a long-overdue apology. "And I've been a bit deceptive to the lot of them, as well, so I think I don't--"
Whatever he thinks he doesn't want to do anymore is interrupted as an insistent flipper swats his hand-- "Yes, yes, alright." -- until he foregoes his sword, takes the penguin's flipper and lets it urge his free hand into Pallidus'.
I'll accept change. That's what he'll do. And I'll help protect them, aide them with the tools they need or the support or whatever he can offer: so perhaps he doesn't even need his weapon... because some things need not change. I'm an angel. I'm a Principality who gave away his flaming sword. That's always been part of who I am.
With a deep breath and a great unfurling of white wings like a shielding canopy stretching overhead, he draws on the reserves of kindness and love, the power of the Almighty's Grace within him, to offer little minor miracles: protection and healing as he can.
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Breathtaking. She's changing. Or maybe she's showing herself for what she really is for the first time: something dangerous and perhaps a little frightening, but not, either,...because she's their friend.
I can't turn back the clock. I've changed too much for that. And I can't pretend that this place won't change me more.
Her words ring so true to him. He has no idea what she has become or who she has been all this time, underneath her facade of chaotic bookish brilliance. She's something else, something otherworldly and Aziraphale feels like he's known--maybe always has known that she is something beyond comprehension, even if he still can't say what. Maybe that had been part of their draw to each other in the first place--two otherworldly beings trying to suppress and hide what they are.
Is she a demi-god? An eldritch beast? Her own world's equivalent of an angel or a demon--or both? Both, perhaps. That she's there holding the legendary sword of Arthur in one hand and a draconic, monstrous sword in the other seems to imply she's something of a balance. Or not a balance, because balance suggests a canceling out (and the angel knows a great deal about that), but a decision. She is both sides of a coin and she's the Decision. She is Change. She is a tipping of scales.
Which means they, too, have a decision to make.
He's so very proud of them (he almost thought I'm so very proud of the humans but they aren't human, now are they? They're an odd assortment of people and maybe that makes the willingness to work together all the grander. In any case, the angel is so very proud of the lot of them and he probably has no reason to be, but he's still...very pleased).
In particular, he looks over at Kaiba extending hand and gives a warm smile. You're trying so hard, young man. They all are. They've tried to be such islands. Tyzias, of all people, has brought them together.
And when he looks up at Crowley, his own face is still a bit pink from the rush of the kiss to his hand--a public acknowledgment of something left unspoken and mostly unchanged for centuries. "I feel like change hasn't come naturally to me," he says as the start of a long-overdue apology. "And I've been a bit deceptive to the lot of them, as well, so I think I don't--"
Whatever he thinks he doesn't want to do anymore is interrupted as an insistent flipper swats his hand-- "Yes, yes, alright." -- until he foregoes his sword, takes the penguin's flipper and lets it urge his free hand into Pallidus'.
I'll accept change. That's what he'll do. And I'll help protect them, aide them with the tools they need or the support or whatever he can offer: so perhaps he doesn't even need his weapon... because some things need not change. I'm an angel. I'm a Principality who gave away his flaming sword. That's always been part of who I am.
With a deep breath and a great unfurling of white wings like a shielding canopy stretching overhead, he draws on the reserves of kindness and love, the power of the Almighty's Grace within him, to offer little minor miracles: protection and healing as he can.