suddenly my eyes are open [open]

[trickntreats]

WHO: Gabriel (Sylvester Wilton) and [OPEN]
WHAT: Gabriel got taken in for a memory-modification. Now he's a little bit weirded out.
WHERE: Sleeping quarters, Bakery, Bar, Temple, streets in-between.
WHEN: Tuesday 10 to Saturday 21 April 2012.

This was one Hell of an elaborate prank. Except that Gabriel was starting to doubt that it was a prank, exactly. Dad wouldn't have thrown him into a place where the inhabitants drilled into his skull. Or experimented on him. Or ... did something Gabriel wasn't quite aware of but which must have happened, because going off to the clinic and then waking up in his quarters without knowing the in-between kind of indicated something happened in the in-between. All at once he remembered the 'dancing alien' prank he'd pulled and wondered if this was in any way similar. Maybe Lucifer had done it, except that Gabriel was fairly sure even Lucifer had no idea where archangels went after they died or how to capture them before they went there.

Maybe this was some kind of archangel's afterlife. If so, Gabriel's only hope was that Luci's turned out worse in the end.

With a groan Gabriel rubbed his temples, trying to wish away the ... it wasn't a throb, exactly. More like a hollow ache. He'd tried to snap it away, naturally, but that had only made the headache worse, so he'd stopped.

"Note to self," he told his reflection in the mirror. "This ain't a game anymore, and pushing the line results in ... in ... something. Just because you've already died apparently doesn't mean it can't happen again. I mean, look at the Winchesters."

With that pep-talk, he staggered to his feet and out the door.

The next five days were, in a word, weird. He still had no idea how to bake, but when he walked into the bakery on Tuesday he found himself automatically pulling out the ingredients for icing and had finished making a multi-tier wedding cake before he realised what he was doing. (Of course, then he had get rid of the excess icing. The cake wasn't actually saleable either, but Gabriel figured he deserved a reward for actually doing some baking and not having it completely burn.)

Tuesday night and Wednesday morning he discovered that powerless archangels in human bodies could, indeed, get sick from eating too much sugar. He made it to work--for a little while--he just didn't get much work done. (Instead he spent most of it looking green and slumped on a chair near the cash-register, with neither the appetite for sweets nor the energy to bake.)

On Thursday after work he went to the bar. If he could get sick, maybe he could get drunk too, and then he could get rid of this niggling uneasiness (fear) that Something Was Wrong. He succeeded in getting drunk quite well, and for a happily oblivious night completely forgot what the hell he was meant to be uneasy about, if anything.

He just didn't make it to work on Friday and spent the day in bed, groaning over the hangover, yelling at anyone who made too much noise and then going back to bed to groan some more.

On Saturday he found the Temple, a tiny little hole in the wall whose only two seats were cut into stone and whose altar sported a couple of thick candles. There was another worshipper, but he left when Gabriel told him to skedaddle, and then the archangel had a very unproductive one-sided conversation with the candles. Anyone passing by might have heard the final rather frustrated and faintly echoing refrain of, "Dad, if you can hear me, get me out of here!"

By Sunday morning something had settled in his mind and he finally became aware that he, in fact, had an extra memory that had been hiding by pretending it belonged there. A memory of baking a multi-tier wedding cake, colour-coordinated with the wedding party, with the mother-in-law hovering over his shoulder. The realisation it was there made him shiver.

He imagined it lurking and giggling, and named it Marie.

Comments

Saturday

[tartanisstylish]

It had been a trying week overall.

Aziraphale had learned quickly that he was to be John Gates, no questions asked. Not that he liked it – not in the least – but his single protest to the doctor who woke him was met with a glare and then silence. Sometimes his self-preservation instinct was functional. This was one of those times. He’d noticed, too, strain on the faces of other Sleepers who’d woken with him, a look of calculation, of looking forward to how their next sentence would end to make sure it didn’t break any rules.

So he decided that he would be John Gates for now, find Crowley, and then begin to fret about the ramifications of all this. Thus far, he had only had success pretending to accept his identity. There was no trace of Crowley, or indeed any supernatural beings, nor had he stumbled across Crowley in any likely spots (he’d tried the bar, even, sneering at the concept of alcohol as contraband, but no luck). And of course he was fretting. He was an Olympic fretter.

In a moment of – what was it, weakness or bravery? – he did not immediately flee when he saw the Temple. Steadying himself against the stone wall, he took a deep breath and peered into the house of God for the first time in years, only to find –

Not very much. A few seats, an altar, some candles. Nothing obviously Christian in origin. There wasn’t even a holy book anywhere.

There was, however, a madman shouting at the altar. Aziraphale stopped in the doorway and stared.

Dad, if you can hear me, get me out of here!

He pressed his lips together tightly and took a step inside. Surely not. Unlikely was an understatement. Besides, he thought in his private, less-than-gracious mind, I’m the only one who’s ignored by Him enough to be left in this place. I should just leave. This man is insane, not angelic.

Decisively, Aziraphale turned to leave – and tripped over one of the stone seats. The floor rushed up to meet him, he let out a loud “oof!” as all the air vacated his lungs, and his glasses went flying.

It was a good thing he didn’t actually need them.

[trickntreats]

Human senses really, really sucked. That was the only reason why Gabriel didn't hear anyone coming in. Not because he was too busy glaring at the altar; not at all.

He jumped and whirled around at the sound of someone taking a spill, one hand instinctively raised with fingers ready to snap and the other rigid at his side, prepared for the archangel blade that was emphatically not going to slide into his grasp as he willed it. Then he released a breath, forced himself to relax, and laughed.

"Have a nice trip?" Lame, but the best he could manage at the moment. The archangel really wished he had his soul-seeing eyes, but since he didn't, he settled for ambling over and squinting at the man (because candlelight wasn't very illuminating, okay!)

[tartanisstylish]

Aziraphale sighed. What tremendous stealth, angel. Pulling himself to his feet, he smoothed down the front of his jacket, cheeks blazing with embarrassment and indignity.

"Have a nice discussion?" he snapped back before he could help himself, then cleared his throat and bent down to retrieve his glasses. He put them in his front pocket, for something to do. He did not appreciate the sudden scrutiny, although turnabout was fair play, he supposed,and he had been watching this . . . individual without permission.

He was not very ashamed of himself, he realized to some dismay.

[trickntreats]

"Sure, it was illuminating," Gabriel said without missing a beat, though that didn't stop the fact his eyes narrowed. Well, then; he'd been overheard. Now the question was whether this guy thought he was insane or actually knew something about 'discussions'.

"I think the line's broken though," he added with a winsome smile. "So if you're looking for call someone up, you're going to need more than a dime." That'll give him something to think about. Or react to. Maybe.

[tartanisstylish]

Aziraphale pressed his lips together in irritation. What an idiot. He hated word games. "Maybe you're using the wrong line," he said archly. "This place is astonishingly awful. And I think I lost all my dimes while I was sleeping in any case."

Wednesday

[whowillsaveyou]

Settling into a new identity wasn't all that difficult. At least not one similar enough to his own that the Doctor only really had to remember his name, for the moment. When he got to the City, things would get more difficult - remembering where he lived, where he worked, all those other things this Doctor Olsen was supposed to know. At least he wasn't expected to remember everything about this person's life.

Though he'd already explored most of the locations, his inability to sit still kept him revisiting them, perhaps hoping to find something different. Different people, at any rate, as the bakery had someone he hadn't yet run into present.

Without approaching directly, the Doctor made his way through the bakery, investigating the shelves and tables, looking very much like he were giving everything a very thorough once-over, skeptisism very clear on his face. He also seemed to be talking to himself, or at least not specifically speaking to anyone in particular.

"Well, it seems like they have all the basic amentities, doesn't it? One has to wonder how much time it took to build all this. Surely they had enough warning of whatever event took place that caused them all to flee the city, hmm?" He paused, turning to look at the man at the counter as if seeing him for the first time. It was then that he noticed the slumping and possible illness. "You don't look like you're doing so well. Everything all right?" His concern seemed more polite than sincere, but at least it was there.

[trickntreats]

"I assume they had a lot of people and a few years to get things moving," Gabriel answered the man's musings first, his voice muffled because he had his head on the counter. "Which makes you wonder just what they screwed so badly that they couldn't fix it." He raised his head a moment later, blinking and pressing a hand to his face, but his gaze wandered the room.

"You'd think they'd have kept the place automated," he said thoughtfully. "At least that way there'd be actual edibles to sell." Which wasn't entirely accurate, because his co-worker did know how to bake some weird little twisted kind of bread, but that was about all. A moment later the archangel added, "Oh, just peachy. I just learned new things. Like the fact there is actually a limit to how much sugar humans can eat."

He sounded more disgruntled over that fact than anything else. Cut down on his sugar intake; what was his existence coming to?

[whowillsaveyou]

"Oh, humans have a tendancy of making a mess out of things," he commented. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd stumbled upon a society after it had collapsed. At least this one seemed to have measures in place for rebuilding - even if those measures included kidnapping people and convincing them they lived here, which was what he believed.

"You'd think so." The Doctor browsed what passed for the bakery's available wares. "But then, they probably didn't expect their workers to wake up with no recollection of how to bake." Or to have to replace them. His brow quirked with amusement. "Been indulging, have you?" Again, his eyes scanned the bread they had to offer, which didn't look all that appetising. "Doesn't seem like you have anything with a high sugar content." A hint of a grin crossed his lips as he looked back to the man. "Or are you holding out on the rest of us?"

[trickntreats]

"They're great at making messes," Gabriel agreed with a grin which belied the sharpness of his eyes as he studied the man. Not human, eh? Gabriel had to wonder what he was, then. In these meatsuits he couldn't have said if anyone was another angel.

"'Course, I've gotta admit they're not the only ones with talent," he added grudgingly a moment later, thinking of his brothers. Then he laid a hand over his heart, summoning up pure innocence to counteract the paleness of his face. "Who, me? Of course I am. What's the use in being a baker if you can't sample the goods?"

[whowillsaveyou]

They, indeed. He looked the man over with a curiosity that gave away that he'd caught the implications behind that. If he wasn't human, either, the Doctor had to wonder what he was. But asking didn't seem like the best choice when, if his suspicions were correct, they were likely being observed.

He gave a chuckle. "Oh, of course. But if you sample them all, you won't have much left to sell to customers, now will you?" His hand rose to waggle a finger. "And you'll wind up overindulging. But I guess that's a lesson you've already learned, hmm?"

Thursday

[tactical_alert]

Malcolm hadn't really visited the bar, aside from getting sent out now and again to either look into some minor scuffle outside or someone who'd drunk themselves blind--the latter he could hardly blame anyone for at this rate. He hadn't been aware at the time when he spotted a familiar face around there though that said face would fall into that category.

"Mr. Wilton," he'd started politely, but, even with the bar, the boozy smell seemed to just eminate from the strange, soul-seeing man. Oh boy. "Trying to see those souls through beer goggles, are we?"

[trickntreats]

Gabriel had been making steady in-roads into the bar's resources for close to a three hours now. Sure, at first he hadn't held back in favour of keeping an eye out for someone interesting, but eventually that slid into 'seeing how much alcohol it took to get a powerless angel drunk'. And he had a lot of practice drinking.

"Heeey, Mr Brit!" Gabriel waggled his finger at Malcolm with a lazy, lopsided grin. "You'd be s'prised how clarifying beer goggles can be." He put his head on the side and lifted his glass. "B'sides, it's whiskey."

[tactical_alert]

Malcolm didn't even keep himself from putting a hand to his head, fingers rubbing brief circles. This would result in a headache for certain--though thankfully not nearly as big a one as his friend here would have come morning. "Whiskey goggles then, my mistake. You look as though you've had more than enough this evening, wouldn't you say?" Wouldn't want him kicked out after hours and then get picked up for something so inane was being out late. And drunk as a bloody skunk.

[trickntreats]

"Mmnnnope. Nope, I wouldn't say." The archangel beckoned Malcolm closer, leaning forward on his stool and almost sliding off with a 'whoops!' He re-centred himself with a disturbing giggle and then crooked a finger at Malcolm again. "Come join me, Mr Brit. Lessee how much booze it takes to loosen that stiff upper lip."

[tactical_alert]

"Oh, you wouldn't like me drunk." That was most definitely a lie. He'd be bubblier and gigglier than Gabriel was at the moment. But best not put that image in anyone's head. And if he was called 'Mr. Brit' one more time, he might have to correct that. (But which name to go with?)

With a sigh, he stepped up to the inebriate, resting a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from sliding off again. "I think we should pay your tab, and then perhaps you should head on back to your room. You wouldn't want to be caught passed out drunk after hours, would you? Or find yourself with a sickened stomach and a worse-off liver."

tuesday ;;

[hisprecious]

When Elena walked into the bakery, she'd been half-expecting to hear a lot of yelling and crashing behind the counter again. Especially since Sylvester seemed bent on learning how to bake a cake, even though he obviously didn't know the first thing about being in a kitchen. The silence was a bit eerie.

"Excuse me," she said under her breath, as she took the liberty of ducking under the counter to enter the back area of the bakery, where she assumed only employees were allowed normally. But somehow, this (all of this) was far from normal, so it could probably be excused.

What she saw was... surprising.

Elena leaned against the doorway to the kitchen in silence, as she watched Sylvester absorbed in his work, icing a massive cake that she was pretty sure he hadn't known how to do a few days ago. Unless he'd been ridiculously modest, which, coming from him, was doubtful. All in all, this was pretty suspicious.

"You learn fast," she said out loud, both eyebrows raised.

perfect. :3

[trickntreats]

It certainly looked pretty, with iced piping around the edges and matching little icing flowers on every layer. At the top was a flourish of icing foliage which would have made the bride and groom dolls look as though they were standing in a garden, if there had been any dolls.

There were dirty bowls and things lying all over the place, but the only one with anything still in it was the half-filled one Gabriel was holding as he smoothed down the icing. He pursed his lips and stepped back to take in the whole of the cake. It was over four feet tall. "I do, don't I?"

His tone was light, belying the sudden pang of unease. When he'd come in this morning it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to pull out his pots and pans and bake the cake. He knew it wasn't as good as it could be--he'd been taste-testing, and there were things off about it, like he hadn't quite gotten the base right. The icing was fine, perfect even; that, he had been able to get right early on. But he already knew the cake itself was going to taste fair at best.

None of which explained why the Hell he'd started to bake it. Abruptly he whirled around and sauntered toward Elena, snatching up a couple of clean spoons and offering her one. "Looks like I overestimated the icing, too. It's your lucky day!"

:D

[hisprecious]

The casual and almost humble way he played off the massive (and beautiful, she had to admit) cake gave her some pause. True, she'd only met him once, but from that time, her general impression of him was not someone who was incredibly modest. Or even a little, to be honest. For that matter, if anyone could learn something like this in days, that'd really be something.

Elena eyed him before cautiously accepting the spoon. "It's not poisoned, is it?" she said, only half-jokingly.

:3b

[trickntreats]

"What, you think I haven't already taste-tested it?" Gabriel asked with a grin, waving the bowl slowly in front of her nose. "I'll tell you a secret--only about three quarters of the icing actually made it onto the cake."

He didn't wait for her to decide whether to trust him or not. He just spooned out a dollop of his own and leaned back against the wall to suck at it contentedly, eyeing the cake.

[hisprecious]

Elena scraped out half a spoonful of icing and nibbled on it as she admired the handiwork put into decorating the cake with the 'three quarters' of the icing. This was different from when she'd chip away at the cookie dough her mom made, but all of a sudden, it gave her a homesick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"This isn't bad," Elena admitted, leaning forward to take another spoonful. Sometimes, in the lack of chocolate, you just had to find any substitute you could. "A bit sweet, but it's okay."

She looked at the cake again, and decided to take a shot at figuring out what happened. "So did you finally resort to using a recipe?"

Thursday

[inequal]

"Try not to fall off there, mate," Owen cautioned. He was trying to be stern about it, but really, it looked like customer was trying to get as drunk as humanly possible and it meant Owen would be keeping a sharp eye on him throughout the night. So far, Gabriel didn't seem in danger of getting himself sick or overly rowdy, so the next drink was set in front of the man with a light thunk.

Though, the attitude was still a bit worrying... Hell, Owen could use a bit of distraction from his own niggling and insistent uneasiness. "Testing out all the flavours of the alcohol rainbow?"

[trickntreats]

"I don't have to try to fall off to fall off," Gabriel said with a grin, lifting a finger and his chin both. The glass followed, and the archangel knocked it back hard and fast and then flicked the cup over to the bartender.

"Yes," Gabriel agreed. "Hell, give me beer next. I'm doing an experiment." He waggled his fingers at Owen as he said it, his smile turning sardonic. He'd never had to worry about mixing drinks, before. It was probably self-destructive to try it out now, because he knew what the result would be, but what the Hell; why not?

[inequal]

"Yeah, but you may have to try to not at this rate," he countered.

Owen caught the cup after a moment of hesitation, a slight frown on his face, then he rolled his eyes. "You're going to have to slow down soon. Doubt you want to drink yourself under the table before you even finish that experiment of yours. Beer, though," he continued, lifting the empty glass and tilting it toward Gabriel, "I can do beer."

That said, he excused himself and pulled something dark off the tap. He returned and set it before Gabriel, brows raised in expectation, interest and caution. It would be just his luck if this man ended up making a huge scene because he felt like getting totally plastered.

[trickntreats]

"Will not. I have very good balance, I'll have you know." Except for the fact that he sometimes found himself off balance because he expected his wings to be there and they weren't. It was about as difficult as you could imagine to get used to not having ten limbs, even if six of them usually spent their time pinioned.

Gabriel regarded the glass with a pursed lip for a moment before picking it up and taking a swig. "I'm just a natural booze equal-opportunist," he told the bartender. "You've just got to treat each of them right."

[inequal]

"Lotta people do. Lotta people lose it when they're drunk," he added, tipping his head toward the drink. That was all he would say on the matter until it became more relevant—at this rate, it would become relevant again later—and instead tried to gauge just how high the man's alcohol content was without one of those breathalyser gizmos.

Trying to keep his smile from turning into a fullblown smirk, Owen asked, "Yeah? How do you do that, then?"