Various Fandoms Oneshots

Conversation with the Angel

Fandom(s): Good Omens and Foundation (Isaac Asimov)

Crossover!

Characters: Aziriphale, Hari Seldon, Dors

Desc: An angel and a mathmatician walk into an elevator...

Gen

Word Count: 1717

"So," Seldon said awkwardly, clasping his hands behind his back. "how's your day been?"

The man standing beside him turned his head. He wore a creamy coloured suit, brown checkered bow tie, and brown slacks, and made Seldon's slick dark suit seem obtusely formal in comparison. His hair was white without being aged, and his face was neatly shaved and held wrinkles suggesting it often bore a cheerful smile. He was round though not heavyset, and a bit short. He held a kind of amiable and warm air about him that made Seldon feel as though at any moment he would pull out a kettle from his sleeve, and ask him how he liked his tea.

The man smiled pleasantly. "Oh, you know how it is. Although, then again, I suppose you don't." He chuckled softly to himself, as if he were sharing a joke with an absent friend. "How about you, dear fellow?"
Seldon nodded slowly. "Fine, fine, Mister..."
"A.Z Fell!" The man held out a hand. "But you can just call me Aziraphale."

They shook, and Seldon absentmindedly chose to avoid pointing out the fact that both names sounded nearly entirely alike.

"Seldon," Seldon said. "Hari Seldon. You can call me Hari, or Seldon, or Hari Seldon, just for the love of Trantor don't call me doctor."

"Good to meet you, Hari, " Aziraphale said with a smile. "I'll refrain from calling you Doctor, of course, but if I may ask why do you have such an aversion to being referred to with your well-earned title?"

"It just doesn't rub me the right way. I doubt I could explain it if I tried," Seldon explained, shoving his hands into his pockets. "And I don't mind being asked in the slightest. Afterall–" he gestured to the flashing panic button amongst the elevator's keypad. "--we may very well be stuck here a while."
"Indeed we may." Aziraphale checked his relic of a golden pocket watch. "It's been nearly ten minutes already. Well, anyway, if we're here for the foreseeable future, we may as well get to know one another. What do you do for a living, Hari?"

"I'm a mathematician," Hair replied, expression darkening. "Although I often wish I wasn't."

"Whyever not?" Aziraphale asked, surprised. "It is my understanding that mathematics is a respectable and sought-after profession among humans."
"Well, I suppose I don't wish I wasn't a mathematician. Rather that I hadn't come up with one specific concept. If I'd just avoided straying from my studies on aerodynamics, if I'd never noticed the correlation between them and humanity, I would never have gotten into this mess in the first place!"

"What sort of mess?"

"The uncomfortable kind. You see, I developed a theory–and a theory it is only–that one could predict the statistical likelihood of future events through a combination of mathematical formulas and historical parallels. I called it psychohistory." He sighed tiredly. "And in one trip from Helicon to Trantor I suddenly find myself mixed up in an arms race for the fate of the galaxy. Hummin seems to think I'll come up with some grand 'eureka!' moment and discover the way to turn it from mere postulation to a practical reality. So far, though, I've got nothing greater than a few faint gut feelings. Not nearly enough substance to bet humanity's future on."

"Is Helicon your home planet?" Aziraphale asked mildly.

Grateful for the change in conversation, Seldon said, "Indeed it is. I don't blame you if you've never heard of it. Trantorians who do are few and far between."