"Looks can tell a lot," Gabriel told Barney, opening his door and swinging his legs out. He peered past the door to the house and sighed. "Then again, sometimes takes lookin' past that to see what's goin' on. Welp." Carefully the Archangel levered himself upright and stepped away from the car, closing the door firmly but without a slam.
Angels didn't get stiff with inaction, but Gabe still moved carefully, slowly, limping a bit. If Barney hadn't seen it before, if he watched now he'd definitely be able to tell that Gabe was injured in some fashion. Since Fletcher was dashing up the path and around the back (the front door looked rather disused), Gabe leaned on Skulduggery's arm instead. (Without permission, but it was a given.)
Gabriel tilted his head to look at Barney through the window and gave him a friendly grin. "Thanks for the ride, Barn. It was a good one."
~~~
For a moment Solomon didn't know whether to be pleased or not that the priest had been there, and had greeted him so quickly. It was just as well; the Necromancer wasn't entirely certain his determination wouldn't have petered out halfway down the aisle. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he half expected it to explode through his ribcage.
There were several reasons he'd chosen this church: It had a good record for being open-minded. The priest was considered a helpful man (if not the congregation). And said priest had implied some sort of recent revelation. No details had been given; it had been more in the man's demeanour when he spoke to some of his colleagues to ask some rather strange questions last night and this morning. About angels. And visions.
Solomon, with context, could put two and two together.
He wasn't blind. He saw the way the man's face fell, just slightly before he mustered himself with admirable graciousness. Almost dryly Solomon wondered to himself just how many people Saint Gabriel had revealed himself. With controlled motions (consciously controlled, in a way he shouldn't have needed) Solomon stopped just level with the last pew and set his cane to the carpet.
His palms still hadn't stopped tingling.
"Father," he said graciously, inclining his head in greeting. "My name is Solomon Wreath. If you have some time this afternoon, I have some ... questions I'd like to ask." He paused for a moment, abruptly realising that he'd spent so long working up his nerve that he'd forgotten to think of exact questions to ask. Ah, well. Honesty, it appeared, got a better response than manipulation--if China Sorrows was anything to go by. He managed to draw up a smile, a calm, wry smile which nevertheless held an edge. "About God, although I imagine that much is obvious."
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Angels didn't get stiff with inaction, but Gabe still moved carefully, slowly, limping a bit. If Barney hadn't seen it before, if he watched now he'd definitely be able to tell that Gabe was injured in some fashion. Since Fletcher was dashing up the path and around the back (the front door looked rather disused), Gabe leaned on Skulduggery's arm instead. (Without permission, but it was a given.)
Gabriel tilted his head to look at Barney through the window and gave him a friendly grin. "Thanks for the ride, Barn. It was a good one."
~~~
For a moment Solomon didn't know whether to be pleased or not that the priest had been there, and had greeted him so quickly. It was just as well; the Necromancer wasn't entirely certain his determination wouldn't have petered out halfway down the aisle. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he half expected it to explode through his ribcage.
There were several reasons he'd chosen this church: It had a good record for being open-minded. The priest was considered a helpful man (if not the congregation). And said priest had implied some sort of recent revelation. No details had been given; it had been more in the man's demeanour when he spoke to some of his colleagues to ask some rather strange questions last night and this morning. About angels. And visions.
Solomon, with context, could put two and two together.
He wasn't blind. He saw the way the man's face fell, just slightly before he mustered himself with admirable graciousness. Almost dryly Solomon wondered to himself just how many people Saint Gabriel had revealed himself. With controlled motions (consciously controlled, in a way he shouldn't have needed) Solomon stopped just level with the last pew and set his cane to the carpet.
His palms still hadn't stopped tingling.
"Father," he said graciously, inclining his head in greeting. "My name is Solomon Wreath. If you have some time this afternoon, I have some ... questions I'd like to ask." He paused for a moment, abruptly realising that he'd spent so long working up his nerve that he'd forgotten to think of exact questions to ask. Ah, well. Honesty, it appeared, got a better response than manipulation--if China Sorrows was anything to go by. He managed to draw up a smile, a calm, wry smile which nevertheless held an edge. "About God, although I imagine that much is obvious."