[oc: Aziraphale's angelic powers have been nerfed again, seeing as the rift is in such a great mood. Telepathic/power-sensing entities might still get a whiff of angel off of him, but he's essentially human right now.]
Oh good grief, what is this? He's drowning in tissue paper. Another dream, obviously, and this one seems just as holiday themed as the last. Isn't it August?
Someone has gift wrapped themself an angel, and not a happy one at that. There is far too much tissue paper in this enclosure, which itself appears to be a box - a little push against the lid of it shows it to be thick cardboard, and it doesn't take a wild stretch of speculation to imagine it's been taped up with probably colorful wrapping - ugh, is this some kind of joke? If so it's becoming rapidly more concerning. The tissue paper is packed in densely enough that his mobility is grievously limited, and outside that is a layer of what seems to be plastic. When he pushes against it, he is rewarded with an ear-shattering POP. Oh, great. Bubblewrap.
Enough of this. He miracles it all away.
Or... no, he doesn't?
What - oh, no. He tries again, or to transport himself out, or wake up, but he can't.
Grand. The Rift often doesn't let him wake up from its communal dreamscapes, but only once so far as it actually taken his powers away from him. And that one was particularly unpleasant.
He wriggles around irritably, trying to get himself into a position to force the enclosure open, but he doesn't have the dexterity or the strength necessary for that, and all he succeeds in doing is making more awful popping noises, even louder for the enclosed space. Why does the Rift so enjoy tormenting him? What did he do to deserve this?
He hears noise outside the box - a sort of shuffling and rustling, muffled behind layers of wrapping - and he raises his voice, hoping with all his might they aren't Satan or something similarly unpleasant.
"Er, hello?" he calls. "Is that someone? Can you get me out of here?"
Aziraphale | Good Omens | Big Applesauce
Oh good grief, what is this? He's drowning in tissue paper. Another dream, obviously, and this one seems just as holiday themed as the last. Isn't it August?
Someone has gift wrapped themself an angel, and not a happy one at that. There is far too much tissue paper in this enclosure, which itself appears to be a box - a little push against the lid of it shows it to be thick cardboard, and it doesn't take a wild stretch of speculation to imagine it's been taped up with probably colorful wrapping - ugh, is this some kind of joke? If so it's becoming rapidly more concerning. The tissue paper is packed in densely enough that his mobility is grievously limited, and outside that is a layer of what seems to be plastic. When he pushes against it, he is rewarded with an ear-shattering POP. Oh, great. Bubblewrap.
Enough of this. He miracles it all away.
Or... no, he doesn't?
What - oh, no. He tries again, or to transport himself out, or wake up, but he can't.
Grand. The Rift often doesn't let him wake up from its communal dreamscapes, but only once so far as it actually taken his powers away from him. And that one was particularly unpleasant.
He wriggles around irritably, trying to get himself into a position to force the enclosure open, but he doesn't have the dexterity or the strength necessary for that, and all he succeeds in doing is making more awful popping noises, even louder for the enclosed space. Why does the Rift so enjoy tormenting him? What did he do to deserve this?
He hears noise outside the box - a sort of shuffling and rustling, muffled behind layers of wrapping - and he raises his voice, hoping with all his might they aren't Satan or something similarly unpleasant.
"Er, hello?" he calls. "Is that someone? Can you get me out of here?"