trickntreats: (do you fear the things you love)
Gabriel ([personal profile] trickntreats) wrote in [community profile] 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.
tartanisstylish: (prepare for smiting)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-12 05:24 am (UTC)(link)
Yes, well, let him gloat. Aziraphale had decided, in the last thirty seconds, that he was above such silliness. Nor could anyone say he was petty. What a ridiculous notion.

"Threadbare about the edges; so it goes," he said. "Period costume is so difficult to keep up with regardless." He'd worn a toga several centuries longer than he should have. It was so hard to get Vikings to take you seriously when you were wearing a toga, but he just hadn't connected the dots. He would probably have caught up with the nineties around the twenty-second century, had he stayed.

Aziraphale was itching to ask the real questions. For example: Had he been shouting because he expected an answer? Did the Lord have power here? Was it just a desperate plea for help, a loss of control? Most importantly, did this clever idiot (relatively clever, relatively) know who he was?

Instead, he settled for, "And your name would be?"
tartanisstylish: (oh god it's the twins from the shining)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-12 05:50 am (UTC)(link)
Aziraphale made a face. "That's a terrible game," he said, "it doesn't even make sense." He cocked his head up at Gabriel with a glare. "And if I was to make a guess based on instincts, I'd say you're out of the game entirely. You've Fallen."

Which raised the question of why he was praying. Shouting. Whatever. Aziraphale was clearly missing some crucial piece of this puzzle, and growing irritated again. Running a hand through his hair (he needed a comb, or something, it was ridiculous not to be able to miracle it tidy), he let all his breath out in a huff.

Ought he to gamble? If this one was truly out of the game, then it was unlikely that he posed much danger in the I'm-going-to-smite-you sense. Besides, what could Heaven do to Aziraphale from here?

Bugger.

"No, I'm not playing," he said, "but I will tell you anyway. I dreamed myself an angel, you see, Aziraphale, formerly of the Eastern Gate." He left off the titles. They embarrassed him, usually.
tartanisstylish: (Default)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-12 06:09 am (UTC)(link)
"Do you?" Aziraphale asked with some amusement. "Because you show a bit more life than the Host tends to. But go on, what job is that?"

Schmuck? He supposed it must have seemed that way to someone with a 'cushy office Upstairs'. "It wasn't so bad," he said mildly. "I was a field angel for millenia. It was eventful." More eventful than Heaven, he didn't say. More eventful than hosannas and blankness. He'd tried braised octopus once, and he was willing to bet that neither Raphael nor Uriel had ever eaten so much as a biscuit.
tartanisstylish: (STOP TALKING i hate you)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-12 06:31 am (UTC)(link)
Aziraphale realized as it was happening that he had never experienced a full-force human fear reaction before.

Even when he'd been woken from the cryogenics chamber it had been nothing like this. He'd felt fear but it had been numbed, distant, and he hadn't associated it with reality. He'd been able to walk from the building unscathed and feel the fear ebb away.

The strangest thing was that he had no control over it whatsoever. He could feel his pupils dilating, his heart speeding up, his fingers tightening into fists - his bowels clenching, which he distantly found disgusting. There was a ringing in his ears that competed with the dull thud of his heart echoing through his bones and he was convinced, utterly convinced, that he was about to die once and for all.

Rising abruptly, he pressed his back to the wall, well aware of how woefully unprepared and ridiculous he must look - but what choice did he have? In all the different scenarios he'd thought up (while miracling dishes dry, learning to prune roses, walking on the beach), he'd never imagined it would be Gabriel who'd come for him. Different, but more dangerous for it, and still insufferably smug, as ever.

Gabriel. He wished he had a tire iron, but picked up a decorative urn instead. "Go on, then," he said wildly. "Good job, you've tricked me, now try it!"
tartanisstylish: (prepare for smiting)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-12 06:49 am (UTC)(link)
Aziraphale did not put down the urn. He did not step forward. He did not - could not - breathe any slower. He was ready to run out the open door at any moment, though if he did have to flee he doubted this body would make it very far. He ought to have gotten a fresh one before the world almost ended.

"This is a stupid game," he said, voice low and tense. "You must know. You're an Archangel. You must know. If you want to fool me, at least try harder!"
tartanisstylish: (STOP TALKING i hate you)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-12 07:10 am (UTC)(link)
The inescapable intensity of that gaze - definitely archangel. But the words didn't match up. Something was off; it was as though they were talking past each other, trying to meet in the middle but never quite making it.

Aziraphale put down the urn, for what it was worth. "I'm sorry," he said, "really, I am. But it's been years, and I'm not in good standing, and I feel as though perhaps I've missed a great deal of information while on bloody vacation!"

He coughed. Shouting had not been part of the plan for that little speech.
tartanisstylish: (Default)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-12 07:38 am (UTC)(link)
"Excuse me, there is a difference between not being in good standing and being Fallen!" Aziraphale protested shrilly over the sound of Gabriel's laughter. Not that he was likely to listen. The more things change . . .

At Gabriel's last outburst, he scoffed. "What makes you think it's your job to corrupt me? Or that you can?" He allowed himself to stand straight, stepping away from the wall. "Not to mention the fact," he added, pointing at Gabriel accusingly, "that you are not the same Gabriel I knew. He was a humorless twit. You're just a twit. So either you've changed entirely over the last - " He attempted to count how long it had been. " - while, or we've never met. Which is it?"
tartanisstylish: (Default)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-12 07:55 am (UTC)(link)
"Why would He do that?" Aziraphale asked before he could stop himself. Perhaps it was a naive question, or an irrelevant one, but it was still his first in bizarre situations. And it simply didn't make sense. Why create two disparate versions of the Host, two Falls, two temptations, two humanities - and this place?

I already know how to have fun, he thought but didn't say. For one, it would lead to questions; for another, from what he'd seen of Gabriel thus far, he'd take it as a challenge. Instead Aziraphale said, "And how would you - don't call me Azzy - how would you define 'fun'?"
tartanisstylish: (really my dear)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-12 01:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. This was all very overwhelming - not to mentio that the notion of an angelic afterlife was frankly terrifying. Generally, afterlife implied judgment, which Aziraphale was not eager for; clearly Gabriel was not either. And if there was another version of Aziraphale out there somewhere, what in the name of all that was holy was he doing?

"It's ineffable," he murmured, with a clear hint of sarcasm streaking his tone of sorrow. "And we may never know."

The expression on Gabriel's face was truly distressing him. He cleared his throat with some discomfort and looked away. "I have fun." It did not sound convincing. His kingdom - flat? - for the ability to tell white lies.
tartanisstylish: (really my dear)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-13 02:08 pm (UTC)(link)
"Of course not." Aziraphale, for his part, had never asked - until he bypassed the asking all at once and went straight for disobeying.

When Gabriel grabbed him around the shoulders, Aziraphale yelped. "Don't call me that," he snarled, trying to get away and utterly failing. "And it'll be you if you've never gotten drunk before, fancy such a sheltered existence." It had been a trial, figuring that out, but Caligula had been such an unpleasant man that he and Crowley had sat down and made a pledge to get drunk or inconveniently discorporate trying. It was all a matter of letting the alcohol bypass your divinity, or - whatever, in Crowley's case.

He shouldn't have been egging Gabriel on like this, but at least if they were talking about alcohol they weren't talking about, oh, sport or scandal. Or sex. He'd had enough of talking about sex with near-strangers for the week.
tartanisstylish: (murder eyes)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-15 04:24 am (UTC)(link)
"As I said," Aziraphale grunted, giving up and allowing himself to be marched forward. "Sheltered. You ought to have tried harder."

As they left the Temple behind, he mirrored Gabriel's twisted face. Raphael was the same in every universe, apparently. "You've known me for all of half an hour," he said peevishly. "You don't get to give someone a nickname after half an hour. Thousands of years, yes. Even one year. Even a day. Not half an hour."

He sincerely hoped that no one he knew was at the Bar tonight. He did not want to have to explain being walked in the door like a recalcitrant child.
tartanisstylish: (really my dear)

[personal profile] tartanisstylish 2012-04-15 05:02 am (UTC)(link)
Control yourself. "Not interested," he said through gritted teeth. "And besides - " Yes! Change the subject. Excellent. " - why would there be a bacchanalia? I don't see any Romans."

Aziraphale just stared up at Gabriel and decided to give up. "You're persistent, I'll give you that," he said wearily.

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i see those feels gabe.

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this will end in tears

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why is this cute

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