Gabriel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trickntreats) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caveofsapphires2012-04-10 06:45 pm
trickntreats) wrote in caveofsapphires2012-04-10 06:45 pm
suddenly my eyes are open [open]
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.
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.
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He down the last of his own drink, motioning for the bartender to hurry it up with those others. "I never," he started, then pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale. Finally he smirked. "I never wore a bowtie."
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"I never . . . " Perfectly-kept nails picked absently at the table, until he waved his hand vaguely and managed, "I never didn't attend Mass anywhere. Er. That is, if you never went to Mass, you have to . . . " He pushed the nearest shot across the table and muttered something about double negatives.
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Then the archangel pushed himself back with a lurch, opening his mouth to say something else before it snapped shut again. For a moment he stared at Aziraphale, his fingers tapping the shot-glass.
And he didn't drink. But finally he said, "I never tried to lecture someone at one of Caligula's parties."
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He did manage to miss Gabriel's hesitation, although he noticed the lack of drinking. Pulling the shot glass towards himself, he tilted his head curiously with none of his usual tact, asking without asking, though he wasn't sure if he wanted an answer, really.
These were beginning to feel very smooth going down, he noticed as he took the shot, and put it down on the table rather harder than he needed to. "I never . . . " He frowned. "Did all seven. Sins, that is."
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Gluttony was an obvious yes. So was lust. Sloth ... sloth he didn't want to think about, but that was also a yes. Wrath ... yeah, okay, done that. Envy? Had he really done envy? After a moment he decided yes, he'd envied humanity, so that counted. Was it pride for him to actually believe he could save Luficer and Michael from themselves, to keep them from fighting, all alone, without their younger brothers knowing? Yes. It must have been. And then pride again to think he knew better than the knuckleheaded Winchesters, when apparently they were right.
But greed ... was it greedy to want his family back together? To want them happy, and whole, and not fighting? He could make whatever he fucking wanted, so it wasn't like he needed much in the way of material possessions. To have his family; that was all he wanted.
Was that too greedy?
Finally he realised he'd been sitting there and thinking over it for far too long, and gave Aziraphale a grin made wobbly if only because he was drunk. "What was the question again?"
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Generally he didn't mope when he was drunk, because he generally was drunk with Crowley, who would not have allowed moping, or with a book, in whose company he could never be upset. However, the relative quiet allowed his mind to drift back to home, not a particular place or time but a more general feeling of comfort and safety that he was missing here.
Tamping that down, he took another shot without realizing he didn't have to and looked at Gabriel a bit blankly. "Sins. But you didn't do all of them, apparently. Not to worry, you're better for it."
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Afraid for, yes. Angry at, yes. Worried about, yes. Terrified of? No. He didn't think. He was pretty sure. It hadn't been fear that kept him out of the fight so long.
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He'd be dead right now if it had actually been his Gabriel, of course. Instead of doing - whatever this was. What was he doing? Oh, yes, thinking of a question. "I never - " This was no good, he was running out of ideas. "Never had a romantic relationship?" he hazarded, tapping his fingers uncertainly on the edge of the table.
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The archangel heaved a sigh, rolled his eyes, and took the shot. Really, he couldn't argue with that. Sure, Kali had been more serious than either of them had ever let on, but even the veneer would have been classified as a 'romantic relationship'.
"I never not had a romantic relationship," was his prompt response.
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He quirked his lips and drank. He didn't regret it, really; it was the one thing he'd never even thought to try. Crowley's friendship had always been enough.
"I never had children," he said hesitantly, because he was interested in how much of those stories were true.
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He made a face at the obvious searching in Aziraphale's tone and shook his head. "Nope. They were all the real Loki's. What, you think I'm going to bring kids into our never-ending family feud? Please. They'd get eaten alive. I'm not gonna do that to any kid of mine. Lessee ... I neveeeerr knocked a star off-course by accident."
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He leaned his cheek against the cool wall of the booth and thought for a moment. "I don't - think I ever did that. No." Shaking his head, he added, "I never met the Virgin."
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Which was probably the reason Kali took up with him, actually--to piss Gabriel off.
The archangel smirked as he took his shot, but it was a melancholic smirk. "I liked her. She had spunk. Spirit. She was such a goody-two-shoes, but you should've seen her when they were all casting their damned stones. Girl had a spine of adamantium. She knew what she believed and gave no shits about who objected." He snapped his fingers and pointed at Aziraphale. "I never had a flaming sword. Didn't you Eden guys get flaming swords? I never had one of those."
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Straightening up, Aziraphale looked at Gabriel curiously. "It's always interesting how people turn out when they're - chosen for that sort of thing." He toyed with an empty shot glass and thought about Adam. He had been - still was - very strong, stronger than either he or Crowley had realized at the time, and likely stronger in the most human of ways than either of them could ever conceptualize. He had separated himself entirely from everyone: angel, demon, and even human, because he could approach humanity, he could come close, but he could never truly be human, not entirely.
Gradually, Aziraphale's brain caught up with his ears. "Er, what's adamantium?" he asked blankly.
He did make a sour face before the next shot. "Yes, I had one," he said, pursing his lips at the heavy burn and the question. "I never - " Met Lucifer, he was about to say, but although he wanted to shut the conversation down, he didn't want to start that discussion. "I never met pagan gods."
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"It was," he said, nodding emphatically. "First I had to convince 'em not to cut me just 'cos I was going against that whole fate thing. Then I had to convince Hel to let 'im go, and trust me, that wasn't easy since she knew I wasn't Loki. If I hadn't been pretending to be her father ..." He wolf-whistled. "In the end they seemed to decide that 'Loki' bucking tradition was just another way of sewing chaos and since that was perfectly within the constraints of Loki's existence, they let it go. 'Parently some of 'em were really kinda bored after they'd chained up the real one, anyway."
At that question Gabriel could only give his brother a blank, incredulous stare. Then he pointed at him emphatically. "You need to read more classical culture, bro. And by 'classic culture' I don't mean those door-stoppers by Charlie Dick." He made a face, knocked back a shot and tried to refocus on his brother. "I never--I never ... Hm. I should call for a reversal, here. I never got not-burned in a fire in London."
how many shots have they even had each, i feel like it's zillions
The angel stared, cross-eyed, at Gabriel's wagging finger. "I'm. Not sure what you're talking about, exactly," he managed. "And Dickens has his weaknesseses, I don't read him that often anyway. Er. 'Classic culture'?"
Briefly he wondered which one, and then he realized that of course Gabriel couldn't possibly know about his shop, haha, how silly, and he must be referring to the Great Fire. He hadn't been settled there at that time, of course, but he'd had a few visitations in early September, unfortunately enough. He wrinkled his nose as if he could still smell the ash and took the shot.
"I never - " He tilted his head, less out of curiosity than out of a sudden sense that it was very, very heavy. "I never lost my wits this quickly drinking," he said, surprised. "Mm. Humanity."
it probably has been, Gabe is probably waaay past his limit XD
"If I hadn'tna--done that drinking the other day--I could've avoided this shot." But he took it, he downed it, thunked it to the table, and then he groaned. The world was spinning, so he put his head on his hand to try and make it stop turning to wildly. "Um." There was a long pause. "I got nothin'."
watch your livers, children
Aziraphale watched with concern, not entirely aware of the tilting at the edge of his own vision, or else purposefully trying to avoid it. "Maybe . . . maybe we should stop," he said. "Who won?"
livers, what is this foreign object?
The archangel looked blearily down at the shot glasses littering the table. Even though there was a definite grouping in front of each of them, there were a number scattered across the table which made it hard to tell just whose was whose. "I think the bartender did."
idk!! same thing as a lung or a kidney probs!! 8U
Following the archangel's glance, he looked at the shot glasses in front of him and had a brilliant idea. He shoved them across the table to Gabriel's side. "I think I did," he said primly.
It was completely logical.
i'll go with that!
why is this cute
because drunken angelfeels