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Susan has devised another activity to occupy her days. By the calendar's reckoning, the start of spring is roughly a week away. Between her and Tress, they've got the outline of a plan for the next Dark, and Susan is happy to rely on people who've got greater interest in and skill for growing things insofar as agriculture goes. But the growing season here shall be longer than usual, and Susan should like to have some idea about what that might mean for the ecosystem,

This is her flimsy excuse to pardon the latest stack of books she's currently carrying out of the library. There is a marginal off-chance that preparatory reading on soil biota could, potentially, be useful. Perhaps she might even talk someone else into reading on the subject as well, so that they might discuss it.

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"Quite futilely, I'm sure. I've spent months trying to arrange it as though it were my own bookshop. When I turn my back, it rearranges itself happily."

"Have you got a system, though? For the steps you're taking when you're arranging it. Or are you just moving books about individually?"

"Not individually," he supplies, remaining eminently helpful. "Typically in stacks. Rather like this one." He hefts the pile of Susan's books, which he's now holding, demonstratively.

Susan marvels, privately, at just how persistently this angel redefines uselessness. Perhaps that's his utility? Setting the lowest bar? "And you carry these stacks around and place books onto shelves?"

"Here and there." He laughs. "It's become obvious that it's rather pointless, so I've abandoned any hope of permanent change. It's only somewhat soothing to bustle about as if I were in my own shop every now and then. Besides," he adds brightly, "the shelves in our bedroom are much more obedient."

Susan is a strong woman; she barely manages not to roll her eyes. "That's because you're doing it wrong."

"Oh?" Aziraphale cocks his head at her, just a bit. "I'm rather set in my ways. Do tell."

Oughtn't an angel have tested approaches to making the world respond to him in the way that he prefers? Susan had this sorted out almost immediately! "You must remove every single book from a given shelf first, if you don't want them to rearrange on you. Even if you'd like to maintain some of the books already there."

"Fascinating," says Aziraphale. He means it genuinely. "How very arbitrary of the house."

"I imagine it's a form of taking and ceding ownership."

"You've done a good deal of experimenting, clearly," he notes. "Have you got theories about the nature of this place?"

"I'm still gathering data."

Cheerfully, Aziraphale continues anyway. "Crowley's certain it's sentient. He's also certain it has it out for him specifically, which I consider rather less likely."

"I disagree," says Susan. "Though I suppose he told you about that paper we found."

"He did," says Aziraphale, with the confidence of someone who presumes that Crowley will tell him everything relevant at all times. After all, Crowley is happy enough to tell him everything irrelevant, such as the plot of some horrifying moving picture or other. "You don't consider that evidence in favour of sentience?"

"Rather the opposite. There was neither sense nor intelligence behind it."

"Surely it's possible to be sentient and possess neither sense nor intelligence," Aziraphale suggests.

Such as in the case of certain angels, perhaps? "Perhaps," Susan allows.

"Now, do enjoy your eel without me nattering on." Aziraphale's still holding her books for her, after all.

Oh, lovely. Susan shall. She eats another bite.

Lovely indeed! Aziraphale's perfectly content to wait, as time isn't of particular meaning to him. He shuffles the stack of books so that he can snatch the topmost book and begin rifling through it with his other hand. Despite appearances, he obviously isn't having any trouble holding a moderately heavy pile of objects at length.

Susan finishes the eel more quickly than she'd like. "Thank you," she says, politely.

"You're most welcome," says Aziraphale with sincere warmth. "Do let me know if there's something else you'd like in the future."

Susan has every intention of finding alternate sources for the things she craves, but it doesn't hurt to keep the offer in her back pocket. Still fastidiously polite, she says, "I shall, thank you."