Fletcher couldn't help staring for a second. He hadn't really given angels or God much thought until recently, but he knew enough to have pretty much always assumed that skeleton detectives - who, apparently, used to murder people - shouldn't be able to make such binding promises with Archangels. The reality felt so surreal.
"Sure." Weren't there always tags on everything in pawnshops? "It was about fifteen." The excitement trickled back into Fletcher, coupled with a bright curiosity. "What are you going to do?"
~~
... Yep. Definitely good-natured teasing. You couldn't be an omnipotent being and claim that much ignorance of the nuances in any conversation, let alone one like this.
But of course, that meant... mind-reading. Or whatever the divine equivalent of mind-reading was. Damn it.
... Damn it. Everything Ghastly had been thinking back at the bar, even before he started drinking. The age difference, the assumption that the man had no clue... Ghastly had to stop himself from mentally apologising right away, and then couldn't avoid briefly wondering if that was actually the right thing to do. Was confessing sin expected?
The problem with meeting God, face-to-face, was that there were a staggering number of different stories and interpretations of what he was supposed to be like. Wrathful. Benevolent. Humourous. Serious. It was next to impossible trying to figure out with ones applied, although Ghastly was pretty sure 'serious' fell off the wagon somewhere back when he'd first entered the bar.
If Gabe was any indication, Ghastly had nothing to worry about. And, in fact, everything to be grateful for.
It was unsurprisingly difficult convincing the rest of his mind.
"Why me?" he clarified as soon as he was able. "If anything, Skul's the one who needs the help. I have every right to feel like this..." And if Ghastly kept forgetting who he was talking to, things could get just as interesting. Talking to God about what he had and didn't have a right to do or feel. Honestly. "Look, it's not as simple as just stopping."
no subject
"Sure." Weren't there always tags on everything in pawnshops? "It was about fifteen." The excitement trickled back into Fletcher, coupled with a bright curiosity. "What are you going to do?"
~~
... Yep. Definitely good-natured teasing. You couldn't be an omnipotent being and claim that much ignorance of the nuances in any conversation, let alone one like this.
But of course, that meant... mind-reading. Or whatever the divine equivalent of mind-reading was. Damn it.
... Damn it. Everything Ghastly had been thinking back at the bar, even before he started drinking. The age difference, the assumption that the man had no clue... Ghastly had to stop himself from mentally apologising right away, and then couldn't avoid briefly wondering if that was actually the right thing to do. Was confessing sin expected?
The problem with meeting God, face-to-face, was that there were a staggering number of different stories and interpretations of what he was supposed to be like. Wrathful. Benevolent. Humourous. Serious. It was next to impossible trying to figure out with ones applied, although Ghastly was pretty sure 'serious' fell off the wagon somewhere back when he'd first entered the bar.
If Gabe was any indication, Ghastly had nothing to worry about. And, in fact, everything to be grateful for.
It was unsurprisingly difficult convincing the rest of his mind.
"Why me?" he clarified as soon as he was able. "If anything, Skul's the one who needs the help. I have every right to feel like this..." And if Ghastly kept forgetting who he was talking to, things could get just as interesting. Talking to God about what he had and didn't have a right to do or feel. Honestly. "Look, it's not as simple as just stopping."
Unless, of course, God wanted it to be. Damn it.