"You show off," Gabriel contradicted, and then grinned--not that the grin had ever completely left. The humour in his face had rarely left through the whole drive. "But it's okay. It's funny most of the time. 'Specially seeing people react."
Gabriel wasn't looking at Fletcher, but he felt the sudden alarm in the Teleporter's soul and turned the grin on him instead. It was accompanied by a roll of his eyes. "You'd be surprised, pardner. You'd be surprised. Or, you've already been surprised, but you're gonna be again."
The grin turned reassuring for Fletcher's sake, and the Archangel reached out to squeeze the teen's hand. Just in case. They weren't ignoring him, promise. It'd be okay.
~~~
High Priest Tenebrae was getting pushy. Solomon was beginning to wish that they had never taken to cellphones even in the somewhat limited manner they had, because he had message after message demanding he return to the Temple at once. That was something which, now more than ever, the Necromancer wasn't willing to do.
His palm hadn't stopped prickling since he left China's apartment. Nor had his back. His heart hadn't stopped that slow pound of adrenaline. His cane was cold, cold in a way that made his mouth dry--cold with a kind of sharpness Solomon had long been used to. Right now, that sharpness felt like a scream. (The sound of it reverberated in his memory.)
Solomon was, quite plainly, terrified. He was terrified of death. Terrified of Saint Gabriel. Terrified of Necromancy. Terrified of the doors before which he stood. Doors he hadn't been through in centuries.
Church doors. Silently the Necromancer looked up at them, his face impassive but sweat on his lip. The church was a nice one; small but well-equipped. It even had a stained-glass window--just one, right over the door. An image of a man that was probably Jesus looked down at him, smiling, holding a cross and one hand uplifted.
The image made Solomon's stomach turned over. Pausing to gather his nerves had been a mistake. He couldn't go back, but now he couldn't go forward. So he stood, absurdly paralysed in a way he should not have been. A Necromancer's fear was conquered through faith, but Solomon didn't know what to have faith in anymore. No faith left, which meant he had to rely on logic.
China Sorrows is a broken woman, he reminded himself. Broken because she tried to go up against God Himself and His chosen angel. It's only logical to get as much information as possible, and a priest is the most logical source.
With that reprimand, Solomon forced himself to move through sheer force of will, stretching out a hand to push open the doors and stride through, his movements quick and sharp to hide the fact that he trembled.
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Gabriel wasn't looking at Fletcher, but he felt the sudden alarm in the Teleporter's soul and turned the grin on him instead. It was accompanied by a roll of his eyes. "You'd be surprised, pardner. You'd be surprised. Or, you've already been surprised, but you're gonna be again."
The grin turned reassuring for Fletcher's sake, and the Archangel reached out to squeeze the teen's hand. Just in case. They weren't ignoring him, promise. It'd be okay.
~~~
High Priest Tenebrae was getting pushy. Solomon was beginning to wish that they had never taken to cellphones even in the somewhat limited manner they had, because he had message after message demanding he return to the Temple at once. That was something which, now more than ever, the Necromancer wasn't willing to do.
His palm hadn't stopped prickling since he left China's apartment. Nor had his back. His heart hadn't stopped that slow pound of adrenaline. His cane was cold, cold in a way that made his mouth dry--cold with a kind of sharpness Solomon had long been used to. Right now, that sharpness felt like a scream. (The sound of it reverberated in his memory.)
Solomon was, quite plainly, terrified. He was terrified of death. Terrified of Saint Gabriel. Terrified of Necromancy. Terrified of the doors before which he stood. Doors he hadn't been through in centuries.
Church doors. Silently the Necromancer looked up at them, his face impassive but sweat on his lip. The church was a nice one; small but well-equipped. It even had a stained-glass window--just one, right over the door. An image of a man that was probably Jesus looked down at him, smiling, holding a cross and one hand uplifted.
The image made Solomon's stomach turned over. Pausing to gather his nerves had been a mistake. He couldn't go back, but now he couldn't go forward. So he stood, absurdly paralysed in a way he should not have been. A Necromancer's fear was conquered through faith, but Solomon didn't know what to have faith in anymore. No faith left, which meant he had to rely on logic.
China Sorrows is a broken woman, he reminded himself. Broken because she tried to go up against God Himself and His chosen angel. It's only logical to get as much information as possible, and a priest is the most logical source.
With that reprimand, Solomon forced himself to move through sheer force of will, stretching out a hand to push open the doors and stride through, his movements quick and sharp to hide the fact that he trembled.