Aallotar [Good Omens]

Three - A Taste of Your Usual Londoners

"Hey! Excuse me, but have you seen the bookshop owner? About this tall, fluffy hair, sensible shoes?"

"What?"

Olly was quite confused. Aside from that, she had never met a man with such rich, ginger hair. Even though Olly favored brighter colors, she had to admit that his dark clothes and glasses gave him a cool punk look.

"Oh, nevermind," he mumbled. He ran toward the door.

"Wait!"

The man stopped--the door ajar. Olly could tell he was hesitant. She felt very awkward.

"Are you... okay?" She was genuinely concerned. He had appeared urgent--almost frightened. "What was all that talk about Hell?"

"Oh. Well. I didn't know there was anyone in the shop."

"Sign says 'open.'" She pointed. The man nodded like he was slowly processing it. Olly just stood there. Very awkward, indeed. She needed to put a stop to it before the awkwardness suffocated her in a bear-hug.

"Anyway. Sorry to keep you. I hope you find who you're looking for-- um, Azira- Aziraphale?"

"Yes?"

The man in all black spun around.

"Aziraphale! There you are! Get in here." He grabbed the other man's jacket sleeve and guided him in. He shut the door and pulled down the curtain.

"Oh! It's nice to see you, Crowley," Aziraphale said, obviously flustered. "What seems to be afoot?"

"It's Hell, Aziraphale. They're planning--"

"Should I... leave?" Olly chimed in. The man in black--presumably Crowley--had forgotten about the young girl that stood at the center of the cluttered shop.

"I think I'm just gonna go. I don't know if this is role-playing or something--the whole 'Hell' thing--but, um, I'll leave you to it. Uh... good luck." She smiled awkwardly and edged toward the door. Their eyes followed her.

"Oh, and Mr. Fell? Aziraphale? I'm not sure which. Either way, your shop is, um, it-it's beautiful, and I'd like to come back sometime, i-if that's alright?" Mr. Fell's face warmed. Olly felt slightly relieved.

"Thank you very much, um..."

"Olly," she said. "You can call me 'Olly.'"

"Oh, well, it was nice to meet you, Olly."

"Um, okay... see you some other time? Oh, and you, Mr. Crowley?"

Crowley nodded.

"You're rocking the hair."

Olly slipped out before she could bury her grave any deeper and ran down the sidewalk toward her grandmother's house. She wished she'd kept her mouth shut but giving a compliment seemed only polite; it was how her parents raised her. Still, she dreaded facing Mr. Fell again after that strange encounter. Olly honestly loved the shop. She loved its warmth and atmosphere. Most of all, she loved how it reminded her of home...

Hell, screw it! Olly was going back, embarrassed or not. It was the only place that reminded her of what she lost without causing her to feel that constant sting of sorrow.

The rain fell heavily as Olly dashed home excited for the following day. But she froze at a corner, her chest aching with sudden surprise. She had forgotten what else was happening the next day:

School.