He looks away: first down at his hands, resting calmly and precisely on the edge of the rickety desk, then to the side, where the dusty light outside the window might be a late dawn or an early twilight. It paints the spartan room in blues and greys; the only splash of colour is the bright glow that picks out the angel's profile against the stone behind him.
And then finally, when there is nothing else with which to postpone the admission, Aziraphael looks back at the screen.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-09-06 05:27 am (UTC)He looks away: first down at his hands, resting calmly and precisely on the edge of the rickety desk, then to the side, where the dusty light outside the window might be a late dawn or an early twilight. It paints the spartan room in blues and greys; the only splash of colour is the bright glow that picks out the angel's profile against the stone behind him.
And then finally, when there is nothing else with which to postpone the admission, Aziraphael looks back at the screen.
"They're not wrong. He was -- "
"He was shot, first."