It was just as well Gabriel managed not to bristle too, or else that might have really set Sanguine off. As it was, the amusement was irritating, and Gabriel took a deep breath to proceed to ignore it. No goat-getting, he told himself. Sanguine wasn't even close to being Lucifer.
Instead the Archangel completely ignored him. Well, aside from the tiny not-quite smirk when he felt the bitterness. Uncharitable, perhaps. Well, probably, even. Gabriel found he didn't mind all that much. Sure, the damned deserved his pity--but his graciousness? Maybe not. There was still a part of him which panged with doubt, but right now, with his head aching and skin crawling, it was very quiet. Particularly given Sanguine's comments about Kenspeckle. The murders in Sanguine's head muddied his soul too much for Gabriel to see details--but he did get some sort of ... overtone. A suggestion that the person they were calling Kenspeckle would be less-than-Kenspeckle once Scarab was done with him. Gabriel let that ugly hum simmer where he could keep an eye on it.
The door was unlocked. Gabriel pushed it open and stepped out into the corridor. He wasn't expecting to get anything from Sanguine but more bloodthirstiness, so the Archangel paused for a moment to orient himself. He may not have been able to use his powers, but it was an ingrained sense--provided he wasn't feeling overcome--to be able to tell basic direction.
That wasn't helpful when he didn't know where the front door was, or where Kenspeckle might be. After a moment's hesitation, Gabriel fished in his pocket for a piece of the chalk he still had from the other dimension and made a mark next to the door, around waist-height. Then he paused again, because really, what was the likelihood that Sanguine wouldn't erase them? Then he reached up, making another one far over his head, and smirked back at Sanguine. "That might be true, Billy-Ray. But he's gonna be pissed you interrupted his lunch-date, and until then, you yourself ain't much to worry about."
~~~
"It has to mean something to you," Solomon said simply, but then his lips twitched in something that was faintly a smirk. "Some have chosen names based on how flashy they are; occasionally, it can be amusing to see what they come up with. But then they're stuck with such a name for the rest of their lives, and they almost always regret it."
They usually found it wasn't fun to be laughed at when they introduced themselves. Solomon finished his biscuit. His stomach, while still hurting, was grumbling just a little less, and the sorcerer reached for another piece of fruitcake. "Obviously, it has to be something you choose for yourself, based on that meaning--whatever it might be."
For Solomon, he had sought peace. The peace of not having to fear death. 'Wreath' had been simply because the circle was infinite. Never-ending, as Solomon wished his peace would be.
He later found it ironic that, as a boy, he'd chosen a name from the Bible he shunned; later still, he knew it was simply because he had no other context from which to choose a name. Now, Solomon found while staring into the level surface of his tea, that suddenly his name had a different meaning again. Not just for its peace--but from where it had come. And why.
He had chosen it because it came from a book his father loved.
"Sometimes," he softly, "you can feel it click into place. As a truth. I did. I've heard of some others who have ... but not all." Just the ones who took it seriously. Who chose something truly part of them.
no subject
Instead the Archangel completely ignored him. Well, aside from the tiny not-quite smirk when he felt the bitterness. Uncharitable, perhaps. Well, probably, even. Gabriel found he didn't mind all that much. Sure, the damned deserved his pity--but his graciousness? Maybe not. There was still a part of him which panged with doubt, but right now, with his head aching and skin crawling, it was very quiet. Particularly given Sanguine's comments about Kenspeckle. The murders in Sanguine's head muddied his soul too much for Gabriel to see details--but he did get some sort of ... overtone. A suggestion that the person they were calling Kenspeckle would be less-than-Kenspeckle once Scarab was done with him. Gabriel let that ugly hum simmer where he could keep an eye on it.
The door was unlocked. Gabriel pushed it open and stepped out into the corridor. He wasn't expecting to get anything from Sanguine but more bloodthirstiness, so the Archangel paused for a moment to orient himself. He may not have been able to use his powers, but it was an ingrained sense--provided he wasn't feeling overcome--to be able to tell basic direction.
That wasn't helpful when he didn't know where the front door was, or where Kenspeckle might be. After a moment's hesitation, Gabriel fished in his pocket for a piece of the chalk he still had from the other dimension and made a mark next to the door, around waist-height. Then he paused again, because really, what was the likelihood that Sanguine wouldn't erase them? Then he reached up, making another one far over his head, and smirked back at Sanguine. "That might be true, Billy-Ray. But he's gonna be pissed you interrupted his lunch-date, and until then, you yourself ain't much to worry about."
~~~
"It has to mean something to you," Solomon said simply, but then his lips twitched in something that was faintly a smirk. "Some have chosen names based on how flashy they are; occasionally, it can be amusing to see what they come up with. But then they're stuck with such a name for the rest of their lives, and they almost always regret it."
They usually found it wasn't fun to be laughed at when they introduced themselves. Solomon finished his biscuit. His stomach, while still hurting, was grumbling just a little less, and the sorcerer reached for another piece of fruitcake. "Obviously, it has to be something you choose for yourself, based on that meaning--whatever it might be."
For Solomon, he had sought peace. The peace of not having to fear death. 'Wreath' had been simply because the circle was infinite. Never-ending, as Solomon wished his peace would be.
He later found it ironic that, as a boy, he'd chosen a name from the Bible he shunned; later still, he knew it was simply because he had no other context from which to choose a name. Now, Solomon found while staring into the level surface of his tea, that suddenly his name had a different meaning again. Not just for its peace--but from where it had come. And why.
He had chosen it because it came from a book his father loved.
"Sometimes," he softly, "you can feel it click into place. As a truth. I did. I've heard of some others who have ... but not all." Just the ones who took it seriously. Who chose something truly part of them.