When Myron Stray opened his door Gabe smiled. It was an automatic smile, but not a fixed one; automatic only because that was what the Archangel did when he greeted people. His smile was warm and gracious.
A moment later the Archangel had to fight to keep it there, or at least fight not to have his expression fall into ... he wasn't sure what. Shock. Horror. Dread. He'd been so focussed on Barney and Skulduggery and Fletcher that he'd forgotten to extend his senses past the door to feel out Myron Stray before the sorcerer answered the knock. Gabe didn't quite manage it; his face didn't contort, but it flashed quickly through various emotions before settling on a shocked sort of pity.
Myron Stray's soul was in tatters. There was still a core of him--a chipped, stained kernel of his Self that no one had bothered to break. Why would they? They had all the power. Myron had none. He wasn't enough of a threat to destroy so completely.
The rest of him was ... like a dissolving pill in water. The center of him still mostly-solid, but fizzing, only half-there and half-formed, stable only because of the outside influence of the water itself. When the melted edges of that soul brushed up against Gabriel, he could feel the fragments of everything that Myron should be, ought to be, now debris.
Myron turned away, and only then did Gabe shudder. Neither Skul nor even Fletcher would be able to miss his reaction, either. "Thanks," he said, and even though his accented voice was mostly calm there was still an undefinable undercurrent. Maybe it'd help if he borrowed Skulduggery's method of using humour instead. "I'm Gabe, by the way. Just came into the country. I'd like to say Skul's told me all aboutcha, but he'd turnin' forgetful in his old age."
~~~
"You have no proof of God." Before he could stop himself Solomon laughed, and there was an edge of hysteria in that laugh which said, perhaps, otherwise. He hadn't seen God personally, no. But China had, and in her state, China couldn't have lied.
"Apparently," he said, still in that very distant sort of tone, the one that hid an abruptly very close and present hysteria, "Saint Gabriel had cocktails with Him just a few days ago. If an angel says He exists, is it true? Must I trust him because he's an angel saying it? That's why I came to you, you know."
It was an abrupt change in topic, related but tangential. Solomon's thoughts and mouth were scurrying everywhere, and he let it go where it wanted because the topic on which they'd been on was only pushing him closer to that cliff-edge. If Solomon started laughing again, or crying, perhaps, he wouldn't stop for a long time. (Part of him already knew he wasn't going to be able to stave it off forever. He'd always known a proper meltdown was going to happen sometime. Just not when.)
"I heard you talking about something you'd seen last night. Angels. I wondered, and thought that at least this would seem the least insane to you. That perhaps you'd have some advice more directly relevant to my ... situation."
His situation of having spoken to an Archangel, sent a woman up against that same Archangel, and come away with the knowledge that she had looked upon the presence of God Almighty Himself.
The Necromancer didn't answer the priest's question just yet. There were a lot of things Saint Gabriel had said. Things which had sent Solomon into a panic-attack on the spot. Things which he knew, he knew, would tip the balance here and now if he brought them up again. A distraction, yes, but he was scrambling, half-panicked and half detached--pale, trembling minutely, his face drawn and eyes lost somewhere between hysteria and an awful, crushing weight of knowledge.
no subject
A moment later the Archangel had to fight to keep it there, or at least fight not to have his expression fall into ... he wasn't sure what. Shock. Horror. Dread. He'd been so focussed on Barney and Skulduggery and Fletcher that he'd forgotten to extend his senses past the door to feel out Myron Stray before the sorcerer answered the knock. Gabe didn't quite manage it; his face didn't contort, but it flashed quickly through various emotions before settling on a shocked sort of pity.
Myron Stray's soul was in tatters. There was still a core of him--a chipped, stained kernel of his Self that no one had bothered to break. Why would they? They had all the power. Myron had none. He wasn't enough of a threat to destroy so completely.
The rest of him was ... like a dissolving pill in water. The center of him still mostly-solid, but fizzing, only half-there and half-formed, stable only because of the outside influence of the water itself. When the melted edges of that soul brushed up against Gabriel, he could feel the fragments of everything that Myron should be, ought to be, now debris.
Myron turned away, and only then did Gabe shudder. Neither Skul nor even Fletcher would be able to miss his reaction, either. "Thanks," he said, and even though his accented voice was mostly calm there was still an undefinable undercurrent. Maybe it'd help if he borrowed Skulduggery's method of using humour instead. "I'm Gabe, by the way. Just came into the country. I'd like to say Skul's told me all aboutcha, but he'd turnin' forgetful in his old age."
~~~
"You have no proof of God." Before he could stop himself Solomon laughed, and there was an edge of hysteria in that laugh which said, perhaps, otherwise. He hadn't seen God personally, no. But China had, and in her state, China couldn't have lied.
"Apparently," he said, still in that very distant sort of tone, the one that hid an abruptly very close and present hysteria, "Saint Gabriel had cocktails with Him just a few days ago. If an angel says He exists, is it true? Must I trust him because he's an angel saying it? That's why I came to you, you know."
It was an abrupt change in topic, related but tangential. Solomon's thoughts and mouth were scurrying everywhere, and he let it go where it wanted because the topic on which they'd been on was only pushing him closer to that cliff-edge. If Solomon started laughing again, or crying, perhaps, he wouldn't stop for a long time. (Part of him already knew he wasn't going to be able to stave it off forever. He'd always known a proper meltdown was going to happen sometime. Just not when.)
"I heard you talking about something you'd seen last night. Angels. I wondered, and thought that at least this would seem the least insane to you. That perhaps you'd have some advice more directly relevant to my ... situation."
His situation of having spoken to an Archangel, sent a woman up against that same Archangel, and come away with the knowledge that she had looked upon the presence of God Almighty Himself.
The Necromancer didn't answer the priest's question just yet. There were a lot of things Saint Gabriel had said. Things which had sent Solomon into a panic-attack on the spot. Things which he knew, he knew, would tip the balance here and now if he brought them up again. A distraction, yes, but he was scrambling, half-panicked and half detached--pale, trembling minutely, his face drawn and eyes lost somewhere between hysteria and an awful, crushing weight of knowledge.