caveofsapphires | suddenly my eyes are open [open]

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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.

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"Only one?" A look of disbelief crossed his face. "That must have been a large thing to have caused such discomfort. I'm guessing a cake, then." What else would a baker make that would be large enough that to eat it in one sitting would make you sick? "Unless, of course, you were experimenting in extraordinarily large danishes." He chuckled.

He watched the man move, giving a small frown. "Should you be working in your state? Though if moving causes discomfort, I suppose getting out of here wouldn't be a high priority. All that walking about and all." A shame, really. He would have liked to speak the this fellow somewhere more private. But if he was stuck here, it wasn't like the opportunity wouldn't come up. "No, probably better to let your stomach settle before you go strolling about. Perhaps nibble a piece of bread. It might help."

"It was a wedding cake," Gabriel admitted, making a face. "I can't even bake a danish, but I baked a wedding cake." Thus the weirdness. Something was wrong; he just wasn't sure how, exactly. Not that he was going to let on quite yet. Instead he looked thoughtful. "Mind you, there's an idea. Nothing wrong with giant danishes."

Except that the mere thought was making him feel sick again and, really, a human constitution sucked. It was just wrong that the thought of more sweets should make him feel worse. "That's why I'm out here," he told the old man. "All that food in the kitchen--guess my co-slave started to get worried I might have something more to add to the mixer."

And, frankly, throwing up was an experience he had thus far managed to avoid and would very much like to not have. It had been a close one when he'd come in, which was why he'd stationed himself out here. "To be honest," he grumbled, eyeing the far-too-bare cabinets, "I'm about ready to climb the walls. I can still smell him trying to bake things and it's driving me nuts."

"A wedding cake!" The incredulous look was obvious. "Well, at least you'll be prepared should anyone wish to get married, hmm? Might I suggest trying cupcakes next time? Much smaller, easier to share." He grinned. He wouldn't mind a cupcake, or anything besides rations, really. Perhaps he should try some of their bread.

"Oh, well. Perhaps a stroll would do you some good, then? I'd suggest some fresh air, but that's not much of an option, is it?" He frowned. Being cooped up underground didn't seem like a very good way of reintegrating people. What if someone were claustrophobic? At least the cave was fairly large. "At the very least, you'd be able to get away from the food."

"I'm still trying to figure out how to keep my cupcakes from turning into blackened lumps in the oven," Gabriel said, throwing his arms up and looking skyward. Thanks a lot, Dad.

"Otherwise, trust me, they'd be on my list. After pie. And pudding. And this absolutely divine cherry flambe thing a little restaurant I know used to make."

At that suggestion/excuse/opening the archangel grinned and leapt up, and then paled a little and leaned on the counter, lifting a cautionary finger. "Only if we go slow. Just lemme warn my fellow slave."

If anyone else asked Gabriel would just spin a tale of guiding this elderly new Sleeper back through the Cave, wasn't he such a nice citizen, yadda yadda yadda. No one would believe it, but plausible deniability or whatever meant he could escape the absolute tedium of watching a store hardly anyone came into.

Leaving only took a minute of gotta-go-hold-down-the-fort and then escaping the kitchen before Dario had a chance to actually argue. Well, aside from one brief detour: to cut off a big chunk of the wedding cake, now only just under four feet tall because Gabriel had eaten the top (it was all he'd been able to manage). Just looking at the thing made him feel sick, so he looked a bit green when he came out with one of those plastic carry-cases for baked goods in hand and thrust it at the little old man.

"Usually I'd pride myself on spiking my free gifts with spice, but apparently I can't eat it all myself and I'd just hate to see it all go to waste." At least this way he could tell whether or not he hadn't just poisoned himself by accident.

The Doctor gave a laugh. "I'm sure you'll manage. Start with something simple and work your way up, hmm?" And if he managed to make all those wonderful things, he'd wind up with a regular customer in this old man.

"Going slow won't be a problem, now, will it?" Look at him, an old man with back problems. He wasn't about to do any jogging, that was for sure. Unless they needed to flee from something, but that was unlikely so long as they stayed out of trouble.

The Doctor waited quite patiently, though he didn't have to wait long. He had his own list of excuses if anyone stopped them. Running errands, asking this most kind fellow to help out with something.

The gift, while surprising, was certainly not unwelcome, and the Doctor's face lit up with delight as he accepted it. "Why thank you, my good man. A welcome change to rations, I must say." Not wanting to cause further distress, however, he simply tucked the container under his arm, opposite the other man to keep it (hopefully) out of sight.

"Shall we, then?" he uttered before making his way out of the bakery. But where to go? Well, no need to decide right away, was there? He fell into step, rambling idly. "This place has a lot of streets, doesn't it? It's really quite intriguing." Not just the streets, but the entire compound, all nestled underground. "And the ceiling!" The Doctor gazed upward. "What do you make of it?"

"I think after that cake I'm going to have to work backwards," Gabriel said with a dramatic sigh. "Wedding cakes are all well and good, but they've got a different taste to them than danishes or pies. And cooking chocolate will only get you by for so long."

He stretched as they exited the bakery, hands in the air as if to celebrate freedom. "Ahhhh, this is better." Working nine-to-five, day after day, being expected to do it? Now that was Hell. No wonder so many humans went nuts. It certainly hadn't contributed to his feeling sick.

"I'd make a greed-trail out of it," he said, looking up at the colourful stones. "You know how it is; you put out rocks, or sweets, or birdseed depending on your quarry, and then they have to pick it all up because they want just one more. Only mine would be less obvious."

"If you were the only one making chocolate, I imagine you'd do quite well, hmm?" What human didn't like chocolate? Oh, sure, some didn't, but most did. In a variety of forms. Still, he'd be happier with danishes...

"A greed-trail?" he repeated, in the form of a question, letting out a soft chuckle as he continued to eye the stone. "I can't imagine anyone being able to pick all of them up." There were so many! "But I suppose someone would try, wouldn't they?" The Doctor lowered his gaze, growing weary of the strain to his neck. "And what would someone lay out for you, if they were so inclined?" he asked curiously.

"It just tastes better when it's in things like cookies and puddings and not just out of a package," Gabriel grumbled, still examining the ceiling. It was pretty, he had to admit, though it wasn't exactly the prettiest thing he'd ever seen.

"That's the idea!" He glanced down with a grin. "To see how far someone can be pushed. And then you can laugh at them for being stupid. And maybe they'll actually learn something." Something flickered across his face, too fast to register what it actually was before the grin came back full force. "Ah, now, that would be telling! It'd be no fun if you knew all my secrets."

The Doctor chuckled. He hadn't really expected an honest answer. "I know what it wouldn't be, at least," he commented with a grin of his own, making a vague motion towards the cake he still toted under his opposite arm. "I think you've had more than enough of that for a while, hmm?"

He didn't find the idea all that entertaining, but it was harmless enough, so it didn't bother him, either. There were worse ways to teach humans a lesson. "And what other sorts of things would you be up to?" he inquired. "Baking certainly isn't your thing, at least for the moment."

“And it’s such a tragedy, too,” Gabriel said mournfully, flicking his fingers toward the same. “Used to be I could eat as much as I wanted without blinking. Ah, desserts. Could humanity have invented anything finer?”

He grinned, then, and it was the slow, sliding, wicked grin of an inveterate prankster. “Oh, you know. Keeping busy. Sending up idiots who think they’re all that. Conjuring a few alien visitations.” The smile faltered before he pulled it back up as a smirk which rang hollow. “Beating some sense into a few idiotic brothers.”

Now if only that had gone better.

Another chuckle. "Oh, they weren't the only ones," he commented. He did have a bit of a soft spot for the occasional sweet, but nowhere near as much as this fellow seemed to.

The Doctor quirked a brow towards him. He sounded like a trouble maker, which wasn't entirely a bad thing. That could be useful.

"Ah, family." A pang of guilt struck him, steps faltering as he turned away to hide the sadness that flickered onto his face. He'd left Susan behind... But with all this going on, perhaps that had been for the better. He had no idea how long he'd be stuck here, after all. Shaking off those feelings, the Doctor smiled, looking back to his companion. "I suppose we'll all have people we'll miss, hmm? Dream or not," and he was going with 'not', "it's still what we know."

Well. Wasn’t that interesting? Then again, maybe it wasn’t. Issues with family had to be one of the most common problems in existence; Gabriel family had just given everyone else’s precedence. The archangel regarded his companion for a moment, but the instant the old man looked back his expression morphed from thoughtful curiosity into a devil-may-care grin with hardly a falter.

“After what my family was doing in that ‘dream’, I’m probably luckier to be here,” he said with a snort and a flippant wave, stretching his arms up with the air of someone who was just saying things to save face, knew it was obvious, and maybe didn’t care. “No more familial responsibility! What could be better?”

Except for the part where he missed them anyway.

The Doctor picked up on that, but he wasn't one to pry into the personal affairs of strangers unless it seemed pertinent to his investigations. And at this point it didn't, but he did make note of it. "You may have family here," he commented. Whatever made-up world this was, they seemed to give people's histories enough details, like his own persona supposedly having a family. "I wonder how similar they'll be to our dreams," he mused. That was assuming they had actual people intertwined as family units, of course.

"I had a photo. A family portrait, it looked like, though I didn't recognize any of them. Children and grandchildren..." Not too different from his dream self, really. "What sort of... evidence did they give you?"

"Probably," Gabriel said, and made a face. "If there's even a slight similarity, my 'family' here are completely screwed up." Wonderful; just what he needed, was another messed-up family.

He frowned and then shrugged. The evidence he'd been presented with was exasperating and weirdly ... nostalgic. Of all the things Gabriel had never done, it was go to college. Sure, he'd been a janitor on college grounds, but he'd never stooped to being a student. "A picture of graduating college with my chef's degree."

The archangel flashed his companion a smirk. "Ironic, eh? Bet they're wishing they'd given me something else."

"Mmm, yes, family is a strange thing, isn't it?" Many people had poor impressions of their families, really, so that this man did wasn't much of a surprise. The Doctor had to admit to some curiosity about it, but... well, perhaps he could pry into that another time.

He laughed cheerfully. "And now you'll have to get your degree all over again, won't you?" he teased, grinning to the 'chef'. He couldn't fathom having to pick up a profession he didn't have any knowledge of... Well, outside of how interesting it would be to learn something new. "I'm sure you'll do fine, hmm? Just try to keep most of your mischievousness out of it, won't you?"

Gabriel lifted his eyebrows and put his hand over his heart in utmost innocence. "Now where would be the fun in things if I did that?"

At least this way he got some perks out of it. Mostly in the form of icing and chocolate chips, but he was starting to work out a very good system of pretending to 'learn' to bake while not actually doing much at all. In the meantime, he actually did get something other than the rations. It wasn't a bad system, really. Except for the part where his stomach had boundaries.

"What did they stick you with?" he asked, giving the old man a critical eye. He looked like a professor or an old retired doctor. Of course, he could've owned a funeral home too; that would have been interesting. But also less likely.

The Doctor laughed. He liked this fellow. Certainly the most entertaining of those he'd met in this place, and he had access to delicious baked goods... Well, he assumed they were delicious. He'd have to determine the truth behind that when he had the chance to try that cake later.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm a professor and scientist, apparently." He gave a shrug. "I'm in the library for the moment, helping students and doing my own studies, making sure I know the limits of this society." It wouldn't do to unintentionally push the society ahead by a hundred years. Assuming what he knew really worked, at any rate. Not that he believed otherwise. "A lot of reading." Not something most here seemed to be interested in.

"I used to work in a college," Gabriel said thoughtfully, and then for the benefit of anyone listening added with smirk and a dismissive wave, "Did it my sleep, you know how it is. I was the janitor."

People underestimated the janitor. It was one of his favourite jobs when he was prowling campuses for arrogant idiots. Ah, those were the days. Of course, unfortunately for the Doctor, Gabriel was on that list of people uninterested in reading.

"I didn't spend much time in the library," he added almost in afterthought. "Let me watch the people."

One brow quirked as the Doctor gave his companion a curious look. "A janitor?" he inquired, more repeating than asking for confirmation. He couldn't imagine this fellow content to clean floors.

Ah, people watching. That made more sense, he supposed, though it also brought up further questions. "Just what were you watching them for, hmm?" he asked. "I doubt you were interested in their sense of fashion."

It was so easy to clean things when all it took was a snap of his fingers after-hours. That meant the rest of his time, when he wasn't spying on idiots, was spent watching TV, reading trashy magazines, plotting pranks, eating and having sex. What could be better?

"Oh, please." He snorted. "You wouldn't believe some of the fashions I've seen. But, no." His smile crept wickedly across his face and his fingers danced in the air. "I was in the business of, shall we say, alternate forms of justice."

"Ah." The comment on fashion went overlooked as the Doctor's musing took over. Justice. Suddenly he wasn't so sure he liked this fellow as much as he thought. Well, it wasn't as though he wasn't guilty of that, even if it could be argued he'd been saving lives, and not knowing the extent of this man's idea of 'justice', he couldn't really judge.

"No matter," he said, waving a hand to dismiss his own thoughts. "I suppose we'll all have to sort out some way to work together in order to sort this mess out, won't we?" Whether it be rebuilding, as the people in charge seemed to expect, or to get out of this place.

It was, admittedly, sometimes cruel, but usually only as far as it was deserved. A man who was lauded for publicly condemning infidelity and then went ahead and had sex, more than once, with his female students. A jerk who humiliated people around him for their alternate beliefs. The kinds of things which deserved a little slap, but no law would cover.

Mostly they survived. Sometimes. Maybe. And he'd kinda had to quit that job for the apocalypse.

"And it's one Hell of a mess they left behind," Gabriel murmured, looking to survey the street and realising with a start that he wasn't entirely sure where they were going. Not having a mental radar made it hard to remember he didn't have one until he tried to use it. He grimaced. "Uh, where were we headed again?"

That he had to agree with. A mess that none of them understood, and yet were expected to 'fix'. If he had been from this place, he'd be rather put off by that. Heck, even not being from the area, he was a little disgruntled about the lack of information - but it was certainly a curious mystery, if nothing else.

"Hmm?" The Doctor glanced around. "Oh, nowhere in particular. The living quarters are over that way, though." He motioned down the street to the west. He'd wandered the underground city so much in his first week, it would be quite the shock to him if he managed to get lost. "Have you visited all the other buildings here?" After a paused, he added, "Aside from the library."

"Oh, well done," Gabriel said, throwing him an amused look. "As it happens, I did go for a few strolls, but someone stole my internal radar and I keep forgetting to memorise the streets."

It was frustrating, every time he ran up against something he didn't have which he should have had, but this was a small thing he'd taken for granted--much like his bottomless stomach. He'd never thought about life without an internal map, without always knowing exactly where he was, and now not having it was one of the most irritating things he could think of.

"I've been tempted to submit to the lure and try my luck," he added, glancing at his companion keenly, "but then I remember that these are the people who sent us out to start work without remembering a thing about our jobs. What are the chances they were any good at keeping accurate and helpful records?"

A sort-of subtle hint, there. If there was anything the old man had found, that meant less that Gabriel had to look for.

"Perhaps a map of the place would be of use," the Doctor suggested. "Though you'd need one of those handheld devices, unless you were fortunate enough to get one drawn out for you." A data map would likely be of more use, if it were capable of tracking a path to one's destination, but some people weren't very adept with technology.

"Ah, well, I've yet to find anything on the disaster itself. There seems to be no mention outside of it having happened." And that was pretty obvious from the state of things. "The planet's history seems to be fairly detailed, however." Not that he'd vouch for its accuracy - if these people were keeping things from them, who's to say what had been altered or left out of the place's history? "Now, the science texts all seem to be fairly well put together, but I suspect those don't interest you much, do they?"

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