All Inclusive

Angels didn't need to sleep, as Heaven was ever-vigilant. Of course, Aziraphale could sleep if he wanted, but usually he didn't. He liked reading more, so there was at least the appeal of reading in bed that would call to him; sometimes he would dress as if he were about to go to sleep, and then spend two days reading a book series whilst propped up among the pillows.

Not in this hotel - not yet, anyway, even though the bed looked quite comfortable. He was far more distracted by other things. It was the middle of the night and he sat at the bar, a half-drunk Fiji at his elbow, and in his hands he was holding the phone the rather colourful receptionist had given him the other day.

For a moment Aziraphale had thought the woman was handing him a very sleek-looking explosive device, because if there was one thing he knew about phones it was that they didn't look like that. But no, it was definitely a phone. It had numbers on it. Purportedly, it could call people; but it also did a whole host of other things. Send electronic messages. Play music. Take pictures, even. In his first hour of using it, he managed to accomplish absolutely nothing, except accidentally turn the ringer off (and it took him even longer to figure out how to turn it back on).

He was getting the hang of it now, though, he supposed. But the phone's habit of correcting his words when he was playing around with the keyboard was enough to sorely try his very angelic patience. Regardless he hoped he survived the Apocalypse, because now he was really looking forward to leaving the twentieth century behind him.