Professor Grouse was currently in Gabriel's bedroom. It had taken a little while after waking to find where the Archangel was, but reasoning that Gabe was in no condition to move far meant it didn't take as long as evidenced by the endless corridors--for which Kenspeckle was grateful. Further, the healing sigils in the room resonated with his own magic. At least the idiot angel had the sense to be somewhere that would help him.
When Kenspeckle had first entered he'd found Gabe resting on the only bed in the room, a large bed with plenty of space. In spite of that, the Archangel had been curled up in a surprisingly and yet unsurprisingly vulnerable way. It was almost child-like, innocent, his eyes closed and hair framing his face. For a moment Kenspeckle stood and stared, and felt a tug in his chest at the sight of the pain-lines on such a young face.
Of course, that was somewhat ruined a moment later when the professor noticed Gabe wasn't breathing. Not that he needed to. Kenspeckle assumed. It was still somewhat startling.
The sorcerer cleared his throat as he stepped nearer, and by the time he'd reached the bed Gabriel had stirred, blinked and looked up at him. Kenspeckle scowled. "I may not remember a good bit of the last five hours," he said, "but I'm going to assume you did something ridiculously foolish. Sit up and tell me where it hurts. And where Pleasant hid those bottles I gave you."
A corner of Gabe's mouth quirked with something that looked like a combination of amusement and ruefulness. "They're in one of the other rooms," he said. "A living-room, just down the hall. Should we go down there?"
For a moment Kenspeckle debated. There hadn't been a lightswitch. Healing magic or no healing magic, he couldn't examine someone he couldn't see properly. The room was big enough, but there was no--ah. A moment later the sorcerer spotted a lamp on the opposite bedside table.
"No," he said curtly. "You are going to stay here while I get your medicine. And then I am going to come back and tend you--again."
The fact that Gabe hadn't even denied the accusation said all he needed to.
When Kenspeckle had returned Gabe had explained what had happened at Serpine's castle and Kenspeckle had torn into him about his stupidity in overusing his abilities. (Though less cuttingly, it had to be said, than he would have otherwise.)
He hadn't done too badly, Kenspeckle had to grudgingly concede. Relatively speaking. Angels were built in ways the professor didn't quite understand, couldn't quite link, though he was figuring out more and more the more he had to examine this reckless idiot. It was a matter of surface-tension. Gabe's open injuries weren't any more severe, but he was still pained by whatever metaphysical muscles he'd pulled and there was something in the thrum of his being which spoke of pain--something related, in some way, to his head and the headache he was still nursing. It wasn't as severe as previously, but it was still there and present.
Almost reluctantly Gabriel admitted the souls of those in the castle had been at fault. The professor had closed his eyes, managed to withstand a shudder, and then returned to his task. Those were evil men. And the Remnant? He didn't particularly want to know what Gabe had seen and felt in them. It was enough that he could sense the effects.
Kenspeckle didn't complain much after that. Not that he had complained to his full extent before. Gabe could have found another way. Foolish as it was, Kenspeckle couldn't help but be grateful that the Archangel had been there in person, and vindictively glad the Remnant was gone--no matter how reckless the act of smiting it had been.
Holy water and lavender, combined with the room, had eased the headache. Some more salve over the worst of the open injuries eased the pain that had started to come back even in stillness. Not all of them, because the bottle couldn't hold enough for that, but Kenspeckle made a mental note to make more.
It was the other thing that was a problem. "I don't suppose there's a swimming pool in here," Kenspeckle grumbled, wiping off his hands.
"I don't know," Gabriel admitted, and then added dryly, "and I can think of at least two people who'd object to me finding out."
"So they should. Angels. Children."
Gabriel ducked his head, his bare shoulders quivering with quiet mirth in reaction to some joke Kenspeckle couldn't see. Still grumbling wordlessly, Kenspeckle reached for the last, still-full bottle.
"Hold still," he ordered, "and rest up against something. If jumping in a magical pool won't work, I'll just have to give you a massage instead. You can't keep going around as though you have advanced arthritis."
For reasons Kenspeckle couldn't divine, Gabe hesitated. "I don't--"
"Did I say you could argue?" Kenspeckle snapped, pouring some oil into his hands and rubbing them together, even though the oil didn't need to be warmed. "If Pleasant can't take proper care of you, I'm revoking his angel-caring licence. As it is, I'm only going to have enough oil for the worst of your back muscles. Hold still."
Gabe held still and quiet while the professor worked, aside from an occasional twitch or tremble, the sort that happened when going over tense muscles. It was lucky Kenspeckle knew the basics of his metaphysical musculature, through his magical examinations, so he could focus on the hotspots and avoid where the feathers were ruffled. Pleasant hadn't bothered to finish a grooming yet, he saw.
It still took a while. So long, in fact, that the professor was only just finishing the last of the oil, and the final group of flight-muscles, when the door opened. He barely looked up--just enough to see the shadow on the floor. "You took your time, Pleasant," he snapped, his voice irritable but hands gentle with light pressure on the inside of Gabe's wing-joint. "Off gallivanting God-knows-where while your angel's collapsed on a bed. Not even a proper grooming, let alone proper muscle-care ..."
He lapsed into annoyed mumbles. Gabe smiled wryly and a bit uncertainly at Skulduggery over the professor, propped up against the headboard with his curled wing resting against the ceiling and wall. The room had been big enough--but just barely. Enough to provide a support for said wings, at least. "He's coming down off an adrenaline high, I think," said the Archangel. "How's Solomon?"
no subject
When Kenspeckle had first entered he'd found Gabe resting on the only bed in the room, a large bed with plenty of space. In spite of that, the Archangel had been curled up in a surprisingly and yet unsurprisingly vulnerable way. It was almost child-like, innocent, his eyes closed and hair framing his face. For a moment Kenspeckle stood and stared, and felt a tug in his chest at the sight of the pain-lines on such a young face.
Of course, that was somewhat ruined a moment later when the professor noticed Gabe wasn't breathing. Not that he needed to. Kenspeckle assumed. It was still somewhat startling.
The sorcerer cleared his throat as he stepped nearer, and by the time he'd reached the bed Gabriel had stirred, blinked and looked up at him. Kenspeckle scowled. "I may not remember a good bit of the last five hours," he said, "but I'm going to assume you did something ridiculously foolish. Sit up and tell me where it hurts. And where Pleasant hid those bottles I gave you."
A corner of Gabe's mouth quirked with something that looked like a combination of amusement and ruefulness. "They're in one of the other rooms," he said. "A living-room, just down the hall. Should we go down there?"
For a moment Kenspeckle debated. There hadn't been a lightswitch. Healing magic or no healing magic, he couldn't examine someone he couldn't see properly. The room was big enough, but there was no--ah. A moment later the sorcerer spotted a lamp on the opposite bedside table.
"No," he said curtly. "You are going to stay here while I get your medicine. And then I am going to come back and tend you--again."
The fact that Gabe hadn't even denied the accusation said all he needed to.
When Kenspeckle had returned Gabe had explained what had happened at Serpine's castle and Kenspeckle had torn into him about his stupidity in overusing his abilities. (Though less cuttingly, it had to be said, than he would have otherwise.)
He hadn't done too badly, Kenspeckle had to grudgingly concede. Relatively speaking. Angels were built in ways the professor didn't quite understand, couldn't quite link, though he was figuring out more and more the more he had to examine this reckless idiot. It was a matter of surface-tension. Gabe's open injuries weren't any more severe, but he was still pained by whatever metaphysical muscles he'd pulled and there was something in the thrum of his being which spoke of pain--something related, in some way, to his head and the headache he was still nursing. It wasn't as severe as previously, but it was still there and present.
Almost reluctantly Gabriel admitted the souls of those in the castle had been at fault. The professor had closed his eyes, managed to withstand a shudder, and then returned to his task. Those were evil men. And the Remnant? He didn't particularly want to know what Gabe had seen and felt in them. It was enough that he could sense the effects.
Kenspeckle didn't complain much after that. Not that he had complained to his full extent before. Gabe could have found another way. Foolish as it was, Kenspeckle couldn't help but be grateful that the Archangel had been there in person, and vindictively glad the Remnant was gone--no matter how reckless the act of smiting it had been.
Holy water and lavender, combined with the room, had eased the headache. Some more salve over the worst of the open injuries eased the pain that had started to come back even in stillness. Not all of them, because the bottle couldn't hold enough for that, but Kenspeckle made a mental note to make more.
It was the other thing that was a problem. "I don't suppose there's a swimming pool in here," Kenspeckle grumbled, wiping off his hands.
"I don't know," Gabriel admitted, and then added dryly, "and I can think of at least two people who'd object to me finding out."
"So they should. Angels. Children."
Gabriel ducked his head, his bare shoulders quivering with quiet mirth in reaction to some joke Kenspeckle couldn't see. Still grumbling wordlessly, Kenspeckle reached for the last, still-full bottle.
"Hold still," he ordered, "and rest up against something. If jumping in a magical pool won't work, I'll just have to give you a massage instead. You can't keep going around as though you have advanced arthritis."
For reasons Kenspeckle couldn't divine, Gabe hesitated. "I don't--"
"Did I say you could argue?" Kenspeckle snapped, pouring some oil into his hands and rubbing them together, even though the oil didn't need to be warmed. "If Pleasant can't take proper care of you, I'm revoking his angel-caring licence. As it is, I'm only going to have enough oil for the worst of your back muscles. Hold still."
Gabe held still and quiet while the professor worked, aside from an occasional twitch or tremble, the sort that happened when going over tense muscles. It was lucky Kenspeckle knew the basics of his metaphysical musculature, through his magical examinations, so he could focus on the hotspots and avoid where the feathers were ruffled. Pleasant hadn't bothered to finish a grooming yet, he saw.
It still took a while. So long, in fact, that the professor was only just finishing the last of the oil, and the final group of flight-muscles, when the door opened. He barely looked up--just enough to see the shadow on the floor. "You took your time, Pleasant," he snapped, his voice irritable but hands gentle with light pressure on the inside of Gabe's wing-joint. "Off gallivanting God-knows-where while your angel's collapsed on a bed. Not even a proper grooming, let alone proper muscle-care ..."
He lapsed into annoyed mumbles. Gabe smiled wryly and a bit uncertainly at Skulduggery over the professor, propped up against the headboard with his curled wing resting against the ceiling and wall. The room had been big enough--but just barely. Enough to provide a support for said wings, at least. "He's coming down off an adrenaline high, I think," said the Archangel. "How's Solomon?"