There was already a stack of important prayers Gabe had every intention of looking into. None of them were ones which required his immediate attention, fortunately, but they were still things he should check on once he had a spare hour or two.
"Oh, quite a few," Gabriel said with a nod. "Humanity doesn't know most of their names. 'Command' might be stretching it a bit literally, though, yes. It's more like they come to me for advice--or did. Less so, now." Mostly Gabe had kept the Lord company, passing His messages on. Sometimes that did mean delegation out of necessity, but often, that delegation went to angels not technically messengers. Michael, on the other hand, really was a general.
When they arrived at Finbar's tattoo parlour, Gabe laughed. "Rafe's been lookin' into getting some tattoos," he murmured, surveying the storefront. "Pity he ain't here."
The Archangel laid a hand on the outside wall, letting his consciousness flow into the building atom by atom--not so far as to inhabit all of it, but more than enough to get a good measure of the thrum of magic and people. Finbar Wrong was a good man, if the walls of the parlour were to be believed (and buildings never lied). He sensed Finbar moving to answer the door, the reverberations of the man's footsteps, the awareness to the resonances of the world which let psychics feel things.
Gabe disconnected himself just as the door opened, and the Archangel turned to it with a grin, still with his hand on the brick. Fortunately for him, Finbar Wrong wasn't nearly as concerned about hiding his emotions--unlike China Sorrows. The Archangel's eyes widened, his grin fading the instant he had the chance to read the man's soul-surface.
So he wasn't blindsided as he had been with China. That didn't mean Gabe didn't blink wordlessly at the psychic for a moment before answering. In fact, at the last bit his startle vanished and he frowned. "Lucifer? You thought I was Lucifer?" He turned to Skul, full of righteous indignation and bewildered hurt. "He thought I was Lucifer! Do I really give off that vibe, Skul?"
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"Oh, quite a few," Gabriel said with a nod. "Humanity doesn't know most of their names. 'Command' might be stretching it a bit literally, though, yes. It's more like they come to me for advice--or did. Less so, now." Mostly Gabe had kept the Lord company, passing His messages on. Sometimes that did mean delegation out of necessity, but often, that delegation went to angels not technically messengers. Michael, on the other hand, really was a general.
When they arrived at Finbar's tattoo parlour, Gabe laughed. "Rafe's been lookin' into getting some tattoos," he murmured, surveying the storefront. "Pity he ain't here."
The Archangel laid a hand on the outside wall, letting his consciousness flow into the building atom by atom--not so far as to inhabit all of it, but more than enough to get a good measure of the thrum of magic and people. Finbar Wrong was a good man, if the walls of the parlour were to be believed (and buildings never lied). He sensed Finbar moving to answer the door, the reverberations of the man's footsteps, the awareness to the resonances of the world which let psychics feel things.
Gabe disconnected himself just as the door opened, and the Archangel turned to it with a grin, still with his hand on the brick. Fortunately for him, Finbar Wrong wasn't nearly as concerned about hiding his emotions--unlike China Sorrows. The Archangel's eyes widened, his grin fading the instant he had the chance to read the man's soul-surface.
So he wasn't blindsided as he had been with China. That didn't mean Gabe didn't blink wordlessly at the psychic for a moment before answering. In fact, at the last bit his startle vanished and he frowned. "Lucifer? You thought I was Lucifer?" He turned to Skul, full of righteous indignation and bewildered hurt. "He thought I was Lucifer! Do I really give off that vibe, Skul?"