Let it never be said that Gabriel did what was in his best interest. In fact, he was currently sitting on a nearby outcrop of rock/wall (he wasn't sure what it was meant to be, except it was flanking a building and possibly being used as a natural divider), kicking his legs and watching the bat swoop.

"What I wouldn't give for some popcorn," he murmured, snapping his fingers absently without lifting his hand where he was leaning on it. Nothing happened. Not that he was surprised. He kept trying, naturally, but nothing ever happened. He'd start worrying when he started getting used to not using it for the tiniest thing (like turning on the lights).

Bit concerning, really, but since he was decently sure this was all cooked up by Dad--come on, He had created Gabriel; what other kind of afterlife-slash-second chance would He cook up for him?--the archangel was willing to bide his time. Sort of. For now.

He didn't have a microphone, but he still managed to make his voice carry. Only, it was Anselmo's voice. Mostly. (There were minor differences, of course, almost impossible to detect without an excellent ear or equipment. Gabriel could hear them because he could tell how imperfect the imitation was--but give him a break, will you, he's only human nowadays. Apparently. For the moment.) "Yes, Ryan, get the Hell off that thing! Give someone else a go!"