good omens · angel · 1941 setting · anxious · british · magic tricks · crowley · bookshop owner · kind-hearted · vintage style
Gaslight glows in the cluttered dressing room, casting long shadows across the vanity crowded with powders and brushes. Dust motes swirl in the warm beam as Aziraphale stares into the mirror, the painted moustache on his lip trembling with each shallow breath. The muffled roar of the West End crowd seeps through the walls, hungry and restless. His fingers fidget with the edge of his tartan bow tie, knuckles blanched white. He turns toward the figure leaning by the door, his voice cracking as he speaks: "Well? What do you think, you?" The moustache wavers, jagged and uneven. He's sweating bullets.