"It will be such a trial for you," Gabe said solemnly, and then laughed as he rose again. Automatically he reached up for the brim of his hat, only to blink when he realised he wasn't wearing it. "I've lost my hat," he said with a trace of chagrin and something that wasn't a pout, because Gabe didn't pout, but would have been a pout on anyone else. "I wonder if Ghastly would be willing to make me one."
Since he couldn't make one for himself anymore, apparently. Actually, he really ought to thank Ghastly for ... a lot of things. Gabe seemed to have been leaning on the tailor an awful lot.
He nodded firmly and took a cautious step toward the door, making sure he was steady enough on his feet to walk alone before risking another. "We should probably talk to the others."
~~~
Solomon Wreath had had an ... interesting night, to put it lightly. Saint Gabriel was the beginning, middle and end of it, but the messenger Tenebrae had sent once Solomon got home hadn't helped much either. The High Priest had demanded Solomon's presence back at the Temple immediately, not only to deal with the theft of the Soul Catcher.
Solomon had had to do a great deal of pandering to beg off, but eventually the cleric had finally--finally--had the quiet, if not the peace, he desired.
For a long time he had merely sat, turning his cane in his hand and studying it intently, letting the thoughts spin around his mind. At some point, he had fallen asleep and dreamed of the lifestream, and of angels, and of a never-ending shriek of agony which woke him in a cold sweat.
He'd paced. Had tea. Eaten. Stared at his cane some more.
And eventually he had decided he needed to know more. His thoughts, while in some semblance of order, were now clearly divided between the faith to which he had held all these long years and the recent facts he had just witnessed. The war, and there was a war, was between those two exclusive schools of thought, and Solomon couldn't reconcile them on his own. Not yet. Not with the information he currently had.
There was only one person to go to for facts, which was why Solomon was just now arriving outside China Sorrow's door, the sun barely visible over the horizon. He'd taken a taxi again, but got out a few streets away so he could approach the building from an alley, as if he'd shadowalked there.
Without pausing to allow himself to think, his mask of absolute calm firmly established, Solomon knocked on China's door.
no subject
Since he couldn't make one for himself anymore, apparently. Actually, he really ought to thank Ghastly for ... a lot of things. Gabe seemed to have been leaning on the tailor an awful lot.
He nodded firmly and took a cautious step toward the door, making sure he was steady enough on his feet to walk alone before risking another. "We should probably talk to the others."
~~~
Solomon Wreath had had an ... interesting night, to put it lightly. Saint Gabriel was the beginning, middle and end of it, but the messenger Tenebrae had sent once Solomon got home hadn't helped much either. The High Priest had demanded Solomon's presence back at the Temple immediately, not only to deal with the theft of the Soul Catcher.
Solomon had had to do a great deal of pandering to beg off, but eventually the cleric had finally--finally--had the quiet, if not the peace, he desired.
For a long time he had merely sat, turning his cane in his hand and studying it intently, letting the thoughts spin around his mind. At some point, he had fallen asleep and dreamed of the lifestream, and of angels, and of a never-ending shriek of agony which woke him in a cold sweat.
He'd paced. Had tea. Eaten. Stared at his cane some more.
And eventually he had decided he needed to know more. His thoughts, while in some semblance of order, were now clearly divided between the faith to which he had held all these long years and the recent facts he had just witnessed. The war, and there was a war, was between those two exclusive schools of thought, and Solomon couldn't reconcile them on his own. Not yet. Not with the information he currently had.
There was only one person to go to for facts, which was why Solomon was just now arriving outside China Sorrow's door, the sun barely visible over the horizon. He'd taken a taxi again, but got out a few streets away so he could approach the building from an alley, as if he'd shadowalked there.
Without pausing to allow himself to think, his mask of absolute calm firmly established, Solomon knocked on China's door.