"Or not bein' replaced, anyway," Gabe drawled. "I wouldn't go so far as safe." He eyed the man up and down, and although his grip on Fletcher's arm was tight, there was nothing of his reaction in his face. This man ... this man. Pure evil, again. One of Lucifer's. This wasn't a man who would ever stop to wonder if he was wrong.
Because he, quite simply, wouldn't care. He was out for his own indulgences, nothing more or less. In a way, that made things simple. Billy-Ray Sanguine wasn't someone on the cusp of a choice, like China. Gabriel wouldn't need to tread carefully around him. He was already lost.
"I lost it in a rodeo," he said deadpan. "Name's Gabe. I've heard of you, Billy-Ray." The Archangel tilted his head and looked the man, very obviously, up and down before pursing his lips. "Gotta say, I'm underwhelmed." Gabe turned to Skulduggery, jerking his own thumb at Billy-Ray. "You were comparin' me to him, Skul, really?"
There was, faintly, a glint of wry humour in his eyes, but mostly there was a suggestion. If they kept Sanguine talking, double-teamed him verbally, maybe he'd let something slip.
~~~
It couldn't possibly be that easy. By questioning alone, Solomon was on the right path? No, there had to be something else--some other shoe waiting to drop. "That's all, is it?" he murmured. "Wonder, and you're free? There's something more than that, surely."
Something more. It was clear by the priest's reaction that Necromancy was evil as something could possibly be. Solomon was a Necromancer. It wasn't simply something he used, but something he was. Really, he thought ruefully, he couldn't blame Father O'Reilly for giving such an answer with the lack of information he possessed. With all that Solomon had said, he had missed one of the most important things.
The Necromancer closed his eyes and shook his head, and then sighed, sitting back in the pew. This time his voice was wry, even as he hefted his cane in one hand to turn it in the air before him. "It depends upon me, you say, and yet not on Necromancy? And yet a Necromancer is all that I am. A sorcerer's magic settles on their majority, Father O'Reilly. I can't choose to be anything else, even if I wanted to."
Quite suddenly, he knew that part of him did want to. He didn't want to suffer. He didn't want to become part of the Scream. He didn't want to live a completely immortal life, just waiting for the time that God Himself would unblock the route to Heaven and send Solomon, and all those of his faith, to Hell proper.
That meant he had to change.
But he couldn't change. He was what he was. Therefore ... there wasn't any hope for him.
Logic. He had been hoping logic would be his saviour. Now it was his damnation.
no subject
Because he, quite simply, wouldn't care. He was out for his own indulgences, nothing more or less. In a way, that made things simple. Billy-Ray Sanguine wasn't someone on the cusp of a choice, like China. Gabriel wouldn't need to tread carefully around him. He was already lost.
"I lost it in a rodeo," he said deadpan. "Name's Gabe. I've heard of you, Billy-Ray." The Archangel tilted his head and looked the man, very obviously, up and down before pursing his lips. "Gotta say, I'm underwhelmed." Gabe turned to Skulduggery, jerking his own thumb at Billy-Ray. "You were comparin' me to him, Skul, really?"
There was, faintly, a glint of wry humour in his eyes, but mostly there was a suggestion. If they kept Sanguine talking, double-teamed him verbally, maybe he'd let something slip.
~~~
It couldn't possibly be that easy. By questioning alone, Solomon was on the right path? No, there had to be something else--some other shoe waiting to drop. "That's all, is it?" he murmured. "Wonder, and you're free? There's something more than that, surely."
Something more. It was clear by the priest's reaction that Necromancy was evil as something could possibly be. Solomon was a Necromancer. It wasn't simply something he used, but something he was. Really, he thought ruefully, he couldn't blame Father O'Reilly for giving such an answer with the lack of information he possessed. With all that Solomon had said, he had missed one of the most important things.
The Necromancer closed his eyes and shook his head, and then sighed, sitting back in the pew. This time his voice was wry, even as he hefted his cane in one hand to turn it in the air before him. "It depends upon me, you say, and yet not on Necromancy? And yet a Necromancer is all that I am. A sorcerer's magic settles on their majority, Father O'Reilly. I can't choose to be anything else, even if I wanted to."
Quite suddenly, he knew that part of him did want to. He didn't want to suffer. He didn't want to become part of the Scream. He didn't want to live a completely immortal life, just waiting for the time that God Himself would unblock the route to Heaven and send Solomon, and all those of his faith, to Hell proper.
That meant he had to change.
But he couldn't change. He was what he was. Therefore ... there wasn't any hope for him.
Logic. He had been hoping logic would be his saviour. Now it was his damnation.