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drconstellation · 1 month

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Stocktaking in the Basement

Aziraphale's Edinburgh Journey: Part 3

Usually one would think of going through their memories as a learning experience as more of a "rummaging around in the attic" metaphor, since the brain, the keeper of memories, is in the highest part of our bodies. But one of S2's underlying themes is the looming Second Coming and the resurrection of the dead, so its underground that we need to head - to the basement.

Aziraphale does a great deal of "stocktaking in the basement" during his trip to Edinburgh. He recalls the encounter with the body-snatcher Elspeth and her companion wee Morag in 1827 on the way up, has his memory jolted by the statue of Gabriel to something more recent, then thinks about what happened in 1941 on the way back. We are largely going to deal with aspects of the 1827 minisode in this meta, and some possible implications for S3.

Lets have a look at why this year, 1827, was chosen for this minisode. The Anatomy Act of 1832 gave doctors and medical students legal permission to use donated bodies for research and educational purposes, and was made so to stop the distressing trade of body snatching that was occurring at the time. But this minisode isn't necessarily about stopping that activity, rather the reasons for doing it in the first place. Looking at Strong's Concordance, as we must, in the Greek, 1827 gives us "convince" or "prove to be in the wrong." This sounds about right for this minisode, which includes the conversation about poverty inducing more opportunities to be wicked, which somehow leads to holiness, from the book. The minisode shows how Aziraphale has this idea turned around for him - he's convinced otherwise, and shown how his initial beliefs about the practice turn out to be wrong.

Also, around 1827 is the time when the building of private mausoleums was at its peak. A mausoleum was (and still is) a display of wealth, so featuring one here plays into the story in the minisode of the virtues of poverty versus the rich. (It's also a call back to the origin of the Bentley's number plate, which was written on a mausoleum in a Monty Python sketch.)

Digging Up the Past

Shax does her own stocktaking when she receives the above push-back from Crowley, and realizes that Aziraphale is not in the bookshop at all at that moment, and goes looking for him. Later, she digs up his own dirty past to taunt him with, in an effort to make him crack and give up Gabriel.

But why is Aziraphale digging up this particular memory at this time? We know he is fond of Edinburgh and has visited many times, so this particular memory must contain something of importance for us to see.

There is the title of the minisode, some Masonic symbology and the metaphorical act of the snatched bodies as the dead rising from their graves which all point us in the direction of the Second Coming and Judgement Day, which we will cover in Part 4, so we'll put that to the side for the moment.

Changing Sides

Let's have a look at some of the blocking of the scenes in the Resurrectionists minisode. This wont cover everything, so if you do go back to have another look at it yourself, do pay close attention to who stands where.

When we first meet Crowley and Aziraphale in 1827, they are standing on what we think of as their "normal" sides, angel on the right and demon on the left. Elspeth, caught in the act of body snatching, is even further to the left, the real demon on the scene, which actually pushes Crowley back to the middle ground.

Straight afterwards, we see all three of them walking together through the streets of Edinburgh. Crowley is still in the middle, but now Elspeth is in the angel's position and Aziraphale on the far left as a demon, as they all discuss the virtues of poverty. Oh dear, Aziraphale, you're losing the argument here, and losing badly!

Inside Mr Dalrymple's rooms, Aziraphale decides to take matters into his own hands, where he thinks he is doing the right thing, and miracles the first body into soup. Elspeth is caught innocently in the middle of this, and Dalrymple is on the demonic left.

A conversation is had with Dalrymple following this. Crowley is hidden in the right-hand chair, Aziraphale, who needs to be swayed, is in the middle, and Dalrymple is still on the demonic left.

After heading back to the cemetery for another body, Crowley and Aziraphale inspect some of the protective measures set up to guard the graves. Crowley is still on the moral right, questioning if the rich are more worthy of being protected from body snatchers than the poor.

Despite changing his mind about body snatching, Aziraphale still ends up on the wrong side of the argument in the end. As a giant Crowley looks down on the two of them, its Aziraphale standing on the demonic left side as the virtues of poverty lose out once more.

Timely Lessons

Back to the fireside chat with Dalrymple. We have this heartfelt reaction from Aziraphale when he learns the preserved specimen he is holding came from a seven-year-old boy.

AZIRAPHALE: [takes the jar] Well, that's a foot. So it's definitely not a foot. [laughs] DALRYMPLE: That's my point. If you two smart gentlemen can't identify it, then what are my students to make of it? I removed this tumor from a seven-year-old boy. AZIRAPHALE: Oh. Oh dear. And… Is he…? DALRYMPLE: [shakes head] And that is why we need a steady supply of cadavers. We need to cut. If we can't cut, we can't learn. If we can't learn more, a lot more, then how on earth are we going to win the battle against monstrosities like this one? I'm just trying to save lives and teach students. I either end up with a knighthood or condemned as a resurrectionist and hanging from a rope.

This, I feel, is an important lesson for them, and it seems for Aziraphale in particular. Why? This part focuses more on his reaction to the tumor, rather than Crowley's, and when we focus on Aziraphale it has ramifications for the future.*

A physical problem is usually easily identified (such as the foot). But what if the problem is invisible, because its on the inside? How do you see into a body, find a problem and make it visible, if you have not been presented with this problem before? Or perhaps you know something is wrong, but don't know what to call it?

It doesn't even have to be physical, it can be a mental, or a psychological problem. One still has to learn how to "see" the problem, to identify what it is (such as a particular pattern of behaviour) and to know the best course of action to overcome it.

Crowley wishing for more murderers to facilitate Dalrymple's research is one thing, but not being able to save a 7 year-old boy...this is the theme of the death of innocent children we've seen repeated throughout the series (the Flood, Job's children, the aborted attempt on Adam, the Crucifixion, and the implications around Crowley's Fall, to name a few.)

This also plays into the "representation matters" theme from the end - you can't be what you can't see.

This is not a lesson about the fact that they care, because they do, but how they learn to see the real problem in the first place.** I'll be interested to see the matching scenes/parallels to this in S3.

The Two Dalrymples

It has not gone unremarked that there is a Dalrymple mentioned in S1 as well - Witchfinder Colonel Dalrymple, who made the fancy Thundergun that was taken to Tadfield to shoot the antichrist with.

Now we can talk about the connection between the two Dalrymples - they are both about removing "monstrosities" from humanity.

Take the line in the passage above: "If we can't learn more, a lot more, then how on earth are we going to win the battle against monstrosities like this one?"

As I've mentioned before, the root of the word monster is from the Latin for monstrum, "a divine omen (of misfortune)," but also monstrare, which means "to point out," which bring us back to this scene in S1, on the tarmac of the Tadfield Airbase:

Aziraphale took Witchfinder Colonel Dalrymple's Thundergun to remove the monstrosity that was Adam the antichrist to save humanity, and Mr Dalrymple the surgeon is trying to learn how to remove and save humanity from the monstrosity we know as cancer. I'm just making a spot now on my S3 bingo card for a third Dalrymple mention, that will no doubt have some connection to the removal of monsters and/or monstrosities from the world.

Balancing the Books

The final bit of stocktaking might just be the coldest part of the whole recall process.

When Aziraphale calls from the cemetery in Edinburgh, he mentions Dalrymple's fate to Crowley:

AZIRAPHALE: Oh, do you really think so? Um, Crowley… Do you remember Dr. Dalrymple, The one who bought, err… CROWLEY: Wee Morag's body. Not a doctor… A mister, yes! Yes, whatever happened to him? AZIRAPHALE: [reading pamphlet] He left Edinburgh in disgrace. And then he killed himself. CROWLEY: Mmm.

Mmm, indeed. They might have saved Elspeth from Hell to meet up with wee Morag again, but the count of souls was still balanced out in the end, with Dalrymple heading the other way. The last time we see him he is still on the demonic LHS of the screen in blocking as he pays for wee Morag's body. Hell had him marked well in advance of his demise.

Time to move on to Part 4: Judgment Day, where we look at all the signs that the End Times are approaching. Again.

Thanks to @vidavalor for the thematic inspiration for this post.

For further reading:

You Say Potato, I Say Excellent! Or blocking, accents and legacy of morality tales in ‘The Resurrectionists’ minisode PART II by @pommedepersephone

The linked post at the beginning Historical Analysis: class and injustice in 'The Ressurrectionists' minisode by @bowtiepastabitch is here.

An intro to Elspeth and wee Morag being parallel characters to Aziraphale and Crowley by @good-soupmens I'm going to follow up on this in Part 5.

*I explained in Part 2 that I believe we are being shown the future through Aziraphale and his parallel characters, Beelzebub and Maggie. Another reason for this is that in S1 is that Anathema is one of his parallels, and she is also caught up with living in the future through the prophecies of Agnes Nutter. In contrast, Crowley's story, and that of his parallels, such as Gabriel and Newt, are about the past and trying to live the life you want that isn't bound by expectations. Urrgghh, I can see I might have to expand on this somewhere later.

**Crowley, with most of his story in the past, shows us an example of this with his "looking where the furniture isn't" comment.

The other posts in this series can be found here:

Part 1: Detective Aziraphale Part 2: Aziraphale-Beelzebub Parallels Part 4: Judgement Day Part 5: I Know Where I'm Going

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziraphale #mr dalrymple #witchfinder colonel dalrymple #elspeth and wee morag #good omens 1827 #edinburgh 1827 #the resurrectionists #scene blocking #body snatchers #strong's concordance

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hawt-pants-exe · 15 days

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Day 16 of ineffable May

1827

Um errr yeah tried experimenting new style?! yeah..,

‼️‼️‼️⁉️❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️⁉️‼️‼️

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2bearsinatrenchcoat · 13 days

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i’m simply too tired to do anything for ineffable may day 19 (temptation) so i’ll just say that i was tempted to print out a net and make a david tennant cube. it’s the same picture of him in the 1827 fit/hair but without the contacts(i think?)/glasses on all sides.

it was worth the ink spent

#ineffable may #ineffable may 2024 #ineffable husbands #crowley #gomens #good omens #aziraphale #aziracrow #good omens 1827 #1827 crowley #edinburgh 1827

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somehow-a-human · 2 months

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So I need some assistance with finding a photo!

Weeks ago I was sifting through the GO BTS footage, looking for *clues* when I remember I was able to pull two names off of the gravestones in Michael Ralph's concept art.

The problem is... I can't find the image I used, and I can't do it again. I have the two names and I'll share them here if anyone would like to trust a note I scribbled down weeks ago, but I cannot get a clear enough image again ANYWHERE. I have no clue what I looked at the first time.

The two names were Alexander Hall, and Conrad Veidt. Both Silent film actors in the first half of the 1900's. I haven't looked any farther into anything. Again, if you'd like to trust my scribble that is why I share this information. I'll also put the fuzzy pic I think I originally looked at down below. Happy clue hunting <3

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rhosmeinir · 8 months

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Fictober 2023 #16

Prompt #16 - "Do you know a way out of here?"

Fanfiction: Good Omens

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Pairing: Ineffable Husbands/Aziracrow

Other Notes: Edinburgh, 1827. In which Crowley is not sucked down to Hell, Hell does not appreciate this, and Aziraphale does something about it. 1167 words!

The earth gave way beneath Crowley with cavernous roar, and the yell of shock left his mouth before he’d even realized what happened. Slightly ahead, Aziraphale had turned a split second before to remark on the creaking underfoot. Without pausing to think, he threw himself bodily at Crowley, and just managed to clasp his fingers around the demon’s wrist before he disappeared into the chasm. Aziraphale gritted his teeth as Crowley’s weight jerked at his shoulder, but focused on keeping his grip intact.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, “Don’t let go!”

“Aye,” Crowley replied bemusedly, tightening his fingers against the angel’s wrist as his laudanum-soaked mind struggled to process what was happening, “Gonnae no dae that.” With a hiss of effort, Aziraphale flung his other arm over the edge of the hole to grab Crowley’s arm as well. With a monumental heave, digging his heels into the graveyard earth, Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s upper body back over the edge.

“You could help out,” he panted, and Crowley obligingly maneuvered his free arm onto the ground, where he clawed and contorted his body in a wormlike fashion as Aziraphale continued to pull. What was only a matter of seconds —but felt like an eternity to the angel— later, Crowley was fully above ground again. But their troubles weren’t over yet: the disappointed howls of angered demons drifted up from the hold even as it began to seal itself, and Crowley grimaced.

“Haud yer wheesht!” the demon bellowed, shaking his fist at the still faintly glowing ground, “An lea’z alane! Ah’ll gie ye a skelpit—”

Not normally one to lose patience or to impose his will on others, Aziraphale recognized the urgency of the situation and made a decision. Standing quickly, he brushed the dirt from his trousers, then strode up behind Crowley (who was still grubbing about on the ground), and gestured. As he called down the miracle, the angel’s hands concluded their path by clamping on to both sides of Crowley’s head, where it promptly took effect, leeching the laudanum from his system. The demon froze, then contorted, then groaned, and toppled slowly over.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said anxiously, leaning down to turn his face upward, flapping his hand to rapidly pat Crowley’s cheek. “Crowley!”

“Uuugh… was that really necessary, Angel?” Crowley, unpleasantly sober now, laid the back of a hand dramatically on his forehead.

“Yes, I daresay it was. You’ve just narrowly escaped a violent summons by Hell, in case you’d forgotten, and I imagine they don’t like that,” Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder, where the ground was still vaguely angry. Crowley pushed himself up, and held out a hand. Aziraphale grasped it as he straightened, and helped Crowley to his feet. The demon put his hands on the small of his back and stretched, twisting his torso from side to side.

“Ooh. Let me tell you, a sudden sober-up from laudanum is not—” Mid-sentence, Crowley froze, and sniffed hard. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” Aziraphale retorted sharply, “What do you mean, uh oh?”

“Hellhound,” Crowley replied, now stretching his neck, “Looks like you were right about Hell not liking this situation, Angel.” Whether by Hellish intent or merely the typically cantankerous Edinburgh weather, the light fog that had spread over the graveyard when the pair had entered it had now coalesced into a thick, dense atmospheric mass that reduced visibility to near zero.

“Crowley, do you know a way out of here?” The demon looked about, then shook his head.

“Nope. Not in this mess, and besides, we won’t outrun a hound anyway.”

“Well then, what do we do?”

“Wait til it shows up and hope dogs still like me, I suppose.”

“You’re not going to try to reason with a hellhound,” Aziraphale stared at Crowley aghast, but his companion shrugged helplessly.

“Not much else we can do besides scratch its ears and feed it a few corpses.”

Further argument was forestalled by a sudden movement in the fog: a sweeping circle around angel and demon rippled, and both spun about to try and catch sight of its source. The temperature around them dropped several degrees, and a low, rumbling growl sounded out of the floating morass. Aziraphale clutched Crowley’s arm.

“Where is it?” he whispered, and Crowley pointed.

“There.” No sooner had he said it than a pair of glowing red eyes emerged from the gloom, exactly where he had indicated. An enormous black shape was attached to the eyes, its edges blurred and formless, but nonetheless obviously the beast they were expecting. Crowley took a deep breath. “I’ll deal with this. It’s after me, so if I have to let it take me, just make sure you get out of here, ok A—”

Before Crowley could finish, Aziraphale stepped in front of him. But it was not plump, mild-mannered, bookshop-keeper Aziraphale: with a blinding flash of light, the angel burst into his true form. A whirling colossus of eyes and wings surrounding the beacon of his Heavenly body, Aziraphale towered high above the graves, the demon, and the hound. Crowley threw up his hands to shield himself, but the light did not singe him, and from behind his sunglasses, he saw the awful Aziraphale stretch out a hand.

“AVAUNT,” the angel said in a terrible voice, and a flame of light jetted from his hand. The hellhound shrieked and screamed, writhing upon the ground until it disintegrated into a crumbling pile of ash. As suddenly as it had come, the blinding light diminished, and when it had gone, Aziraphale stood upon the wind-blown grass, hair mussed, examining his sleeves.

“…absolutely ruined the cuffs!” was the first thing Crowley heard after the ringing left his ears. Rapidly recovering from his slack-jawed shock, the demon staggered over to Aziraphale.

“Since when have you been able to do that?!” he gawped, and Aziraphale blushed.

“Oh, well, I wasn’t entirely sure I could. But trying seemed preferable to the alternative.”

“And what about the people??” Aziraphale looked about guiltily.

“They’ll write it off as a Divine Happening, I suppose. We’d better find out way out of here though, in case anyone comes looking.”

Together they picked their way through the graves, in what they vaguely thought might be the direction of a gate out of the cemetery. Crowley was still not satisfied.

“And what about Heaven? Won’t you be in trouble?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a miracle, was it?” Aziraphale said cagily, “I mean, that’s just something I can do in that form. So I don’t think it’ll have registered. And,” he went on, warming to the idea he’d just had, “Hell won’t know it was me either! So they’ll just think you managed to destroy their hound and leave you alone, right?”

Crowley wasn’t so sure, but it seemed like a good enough conclusion for the moment. And, deep in his demonic heart, he really was touched at the risk Aziraphale had taken to save him from being dragged to Hell. And so, he gave in.

“Thanks, Angel.”

#fictober23 #fictober #good omens #gomens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #fanfiction #fanfic #edinburgh 1827

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theriverspath · 13 days

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Ineffable May 2024, Day 16: 1827

Rating: Mature. CONTENT WARNINGS: Interrupted SA of a show character involving an unwanted kiss, proof of previous physical assault on an original character, death of the assailant.

Did you read the content warnings? Please do so, and keep yourself safe if necessary. Story below the cut.

“We can get a room in a proper boarding house, not like the last one.” - Elspeth, to Wee Morag. Good Omens, S2E3

Elspeth drug herself up the dark, narrow, rickety stairs that led from the boarding house’s ground floor to the one that housed the room she shared with Morag. Her hands hurt, her back hurt, even her eyes ached. The pair had been cooped up in their room all day, stitching together pieces of white linen into men’s shirts. Between the two of them, the work barely paid enough for the room, and sometimes not even enough for that. Food money was a luxury, and one they didn’t have as often as they should.

But as the sun went down, Morag’s stomach let out a grumble so loud that Elspeth had heard it from her chair. And even though the obviously hungry young woman had protested, Elspeth insisted on venturing out to see if she could find a street vendor with something cheap.*

With the small meal safely stowed away in one of the large pockets hidden in her skirts, she’d made her way back home. Halfway up the stairs, Elspeth realized she was hearing voices. A man and a woman, and the woman didn’t sound happy. Wait - was that Morag? What was she doing out on the landing? Body aches forgotten, Elspeth picked up her pace and slid her hand into the pocket that didn’t carry their meager supper. It found her cosh: a short stick covered in leather. The bulb on one end contained a stone, and the weight of it felt familiar and comforting in her grip. She kept it hidden in the pocket as she crested the stairs.

There was Morag, her back against the wall next to their door. A shirtless man stood directly in front of her, one of his elbows propped against the wall next to her head. Elspeth recognized him as one of Cora’s regulars. The walls of this building were thin and hollow, and it wasn’t long after they moved in that Morag and Elspeth deduced what the woman next door did to earn a living. Other than the occasional rhythmic noise, Cora had turned out to be an easy enough neighbor. And, they hadn’t had any trouble out of the men. Until tonight, that is.

As Elspeth approached, he lifted the other hand and tucked a stray strand of Morag’s hair behind her ear. In the glow of the candle nub that Morag clutched, Elspeth saw her flinch at the touch.

“Making a new friend?” Both Morag and the man jumped at the sound of Elspeth’s voice. His head bobbed as it whipped around to face her. His surprise turned to a sneer of delight.

“Well, 'allo. Come to join the fun? I was just invitin’ the lass here into yon chamber for a wee tipple. For sure you’d be welcome, too.” The whiskey on his breath nearly knocked Elspeth over. His nod towards Cora’s open door told her exactly what type of fun he had in mind.

“And I was thanking him for the thoughtful offer, but I’m just waiting for you to return before retiring for the night. Because I’m having one of my headaches.” Morag’s voice was even, patient, as if she were explaining something to a confused child. But, Elspeth saw the panic in her eyes and knew the excuse was a lie. Her words brought the man's attention back to her.

“Oh, I ken a way to rid ye of pain.” Before either Morag or Elspeth had time to process what he meant, his mouth was on Morag’s. Elspeth heard the dull thunk as the force of it knocked the woman’s head back against the wall. There was a squeal of frightened surprise, and then the hiss of fire on flesh. Morag had dashed the candle against the man’s face, plunging the stairwell into near darkness.

Elspeth was already lunging at him, her hand out of her pocket and brandishing her home-made weapon, when he let out an enraged roar. There was another cry from Morag, and the dim light from Cora’s room silhouetted the man dragging her by her hair towards it. Elspeth struck, hitting the man above an ear. He instantly crumpled, landing with a thump half inside the doorway. Elspeth gave him no thought and turned to Morag, looking for any sign of injury.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” Morag shook her head, her eyes glued to the still form at their feet. There was a moan from further inside the room. An oil lamp illuminated enough of the chamber to show Cora sprawled across her bed, clothed in her underthings. She began to move slowly, propping herself up into a sitting position. As her loose hair fell away from her face, Elspeth could see a darkening bruise already spreading across her lower jaw.

“I think you’ve killed him.” Morag’s words were a whisper.

“Good.” Cora’s reply was clear. “Save me the trouble of calling in a favor.” The woman rose, a little unsteady on her feet, and walked the few steps to the door. She nudged the man with her foot. When he didn’t respond, she kicked him. Hard. Satisfied, she turned and walked back toward the bed. It made a familiar-sounding squeak as she sat down. Her words were a little less steady when she spoke again.

“You’d better bring him all the way in before someone sees him. It’s a miracle half the house didn’t come running at that yell.” Elspeth managed to drag the body onto what little floor space the room offered. Morag shut the door behind them.

“You’ll hang for this, Elspeth. What are we going to do?” Morag was hugging her shawl around her shoulders. She’d made no move to fix the mess the man had made of her hair. Elspeth’s knees began to shake as she stepped over to Morag’s side. She fished the sausage roll she’d bought what felt like years ago out of her pocket and tore it in half. She handed half to Morag, who seemed to take a bite on automatic. When she thought about doing the same, her stomach rolled. Instead, she tossed her half to Cora. The other woman nodded her thanks.

“We’re going to make a little money off him, is what. Then find another place to stay before his pals come looking for him.” Elspeth scrunched her eyebrows in confusion at Cora’s words.

“How are we going to make money off a corpse?”

“I’ve got a fella who knows one of those doctors that buys bodies to cut up. He don’t ask too many questions about where they come from, neither. If we let him know about this one, he’ll give us a cut of the take.”

“No, we can’t. It’s not right. There’s got to be another way. Does he have family to bury him?” Morag shook her head, looking increasingly uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed.

“I’m not askin’. I’m tellin’ you what I’m going to do. If you don’t like it, you can leave. But if you help, you’ll at least get some carryin’ money to take with you. Because trust me, you don’t want to be here if that family of his you’re so concerned about gets wind you had anything to do with him disappearin’.”

“Where is he? I’ll go fetch him.” Elspeth spoke up before Morag had another chance to insist against the plan.

“He’s at the White Hart, most likely.” Cora filled Elspeth in on who he was, how to recognize him, and what to say when she found him. A quick squeeze of an arm around Morag, and Elspeth was ready to go. As she put her hand on the doorknob, though, Cora stopped her.

“Wait. Wear his clothes. If you swan in lookin’ like a lass by your lonesome, you’ll attract too much attention. But, I’d rekkin you could pass for a lad in his older brother’s things.” Elspeth had no desire to wear the clothes of a dead man, especially not this man. But, she saw the sense in it. A minute later, she was slipping the cosh into the jacket pocket and piling her hair into the hat. After that, she was out into the night.

------

It turned out that even helping to disguise and haul a dead body to the good doctor’s surgery didn’t earn much of “the take.” Not enough for a new room, anyway. But she’d learned a lot in those hours, and fully intended to make the next take entirely hers.

......

*She’d found a scrawny man with a tray full of what could possibly called sausages in things that were perhaps buns. She didn’t ask what they were made of and was able to bargain the price down a bit, though the man protested that even at full price he was “cuttin’ his own throat.”

prompt list

#ineffable may #ineffable may 2024 #good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #elspeth and wee morag #good omens 1827 #edinburgh 1827 #my writing

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