This is a sight more horrible than anything he's seen so far. For a moment Aziraphale can only stand and stare, first at the young woman shackled so cruelly to the wall, poor thing, what is that... horrid stuff creeping up around her? - then at the man - no, the creature who seems to be menacing her. Toying with her maybe, or waiting for an opportunity? A difficult situation to parse. But the important thing is the very clear delineation between what is innocent and what is evil. That is Aziraphale's jam. He knows how to deal with this.
"Excuse me," he says, letting a little bit of righteous fury creep into his ordinarily mild-mannered voice. He takes a step toward the abomination - fleshless, oozing, rather, seeming almost hollowed out, a hellish shell housing nothing but wrongness and malice. Aziraphale feels a quick thread of revulsion, a very old feeling, something he hasn't had in a while. He's facing true monstrosity here, something truly, demonstrably evil, like he hasn't seen in centuries. Moral certainty is a luxury he's missed.
"Stop this at once," he says, his unimpeachable English mannerisms still coming out on top of all his internal angelic fire. He all but shakes his finger at the monster. "I will give you one chance to unhand this woman before I intervene."
Someone a bit more practiced at playing the badass might add and you don't want that, but Aziraphale just places his hands on his hips and frowns diligently.
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This is a sight more horrible than anything he's seen so far. For a moment Aziraphale can only stand and stare, first at the young woman shackled so cruelly to the wall, poor thing, what is that... horrid stuff creeping up around her? - then at the man - no, the creature who seems to be menacing her. Toying with her maybe, or waiting for an opportunity? A difficult situation to parse. But the important thing is the very clear delineation between what is innocent and what is evil. That is Aziraphale's jam. He knows how to deal with this.
"Excuse me," he says, letting a little bit of righteous fury creep into his ordinarily mild-mannered voice. He takes a step toward the abomination - fleshless, oozing, rather, seeming almost hollowed out, a hellish shell housing nothing but wrongness and malice. Aziraphale feels a quick thread of revulsion, a very old feeling, something he hasn't had in a while. He's facing true monstrosity here, something truly, demonstrably evil, like he hasn't seen in centuries. Moral certainty is a luxury he's missed.
"Stop this at once," he says, his unimpeachable English mannerisms still coming out on top of all his internal angelic fire. He all but shakes his finger at the monster. "I will give you one chance to unhand this woman before I intervene."
Someone a bit more practiced at playing the badass might add and you don't want that, but Aziraphale just places his hands on his hips and frowns diligently.