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.
no subject
"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
He made a face that was probably supposed to be studied seriousness, but came out sort of constipated instead.