Chapter Text
It was quiet in London, apart from the light rain which occasionally tapped at the windows of Aziraphale’s lodgings. Books were strewn everywhere; on shelves, dressers and piled up on the floor. He was going to have to do something about that sooner or later; perhaps he could open a book shop. Not that he would actually sell any of his prized collection of course, but the idea certainly appealed to him.
Aziraphale absently walked around the interior of the rooms, feeling unsettled. He tried sitting down with one of his prized collection, a lovely leather-bound edition, and a glass of wine, but the feeling didn’t abate. He watched the rain fall for a while, but he still felt disconcerted.
If anything, the feeling was stronger, and now he was peckish, on top of it all! Crêpes would be delightful, he thought to himself. Nice, delicious and fluffy crêpes, purely scrumptious in their sweetness, lovingly complimented by a tangy strawberry or fruity jam.
Well, the only proper place one could get crêpes, authentic ones in any case, was Paris. What would be the harm in popping over to Paris, having a lovely meal and then popping back home? Granted, he had been reprimanded just last month for performing frivolous miracles; too bad he couldn’t miracle Gabriel away, he idly thought. However, if it came down to it, he could always say he was working to thwart evil, which would of course outweigh any frivolities incurred- including the crêpes. And the brioche, of course. Couldn’t forget the brioche, especially as he could probably bring some of that back with him. Brioche, thank heaven, was slightly more portable than crêpes.
Aziraphale gave himself a once over in the looking glass. The Principality’s outfit had been chosen with care, down to the heels on his white silk shoes. The embroidered gold brocade on his coat shone as exquisitely as the buttons, which he had polished earlier that day. The lace cuffs and collar were starched and pristine. Nodding at his reflection, Aziraphale was satisfied that he was ready to leave.
Yet, there was something itching at the back of his mind, something he felt he had surely forgotten. Aziraphale pondered on it for a long moment and then ultimately decided it could not be entirely too important, if he couldn’t recall, and with a thought and a snap of his fingers, he was on his way to Paris.