"Yes, High Priest." Quiver's voice actually sounded shaken, and he was slightly pale, but composed, as he turned toward the door. His gaze skirted around Gabe and the others--but mostly Gabe--and the necromancer took the lead with short, controlled steps just enough to keep him ahead of the group.
With a gentle nudge Gabe urged Erskine out along with the others, following behind the shaken necromancer. His flames were burning still, small but now so hot that the edges of his shadows looked as if they might start to dissolve.
As soon as they were far enough from Tenebrae's office Gabriel said, "You don't have to show us the way. 'Sides, there's somethin' you've got that still belongs to Sol in your medical wing. Rather you wrapped 'em all up, y'know? No need to put things like that on display." His voice was even, but it still made Quiver stop short and turn to look at him. For a moment the necromancer's throat worked, and Gabe saw in him a burning desire.
One he quelled. Quiver was an extremely thoughtful man who had just discovered several extremely unnerving things, and he needed to process them before he added to them. The thing that made Quiver unique was that he recognised that trait, saw the escape-route Gabe was simultaneously offering and the salted wounds of which Gabe was aware by sending him to retrieve ... those. And he knew Gabe knew it, too. He knew, and the necromancer still nodded shortly, his hands tense but unclenched on his robes just before he reached up to take a key from his ring and hand it over.
"I'll bring them to his quarters for you."
He turned down another intersection, moving quickly, not quite as if trying to flee. The man was terrified, and he didn't even understand why. Yet.
But he would. Of that, Gabriel was certain. The Archangel turned to follow the luminous golden wash radiating down the corridor. It only seemed like a few seconds before they were before Solomon's door and Gabe was fitting the door to the lock, pushing it open. And there he was.
Solomon was at once the most pitiful thing imaginable and the most glorious thing in the world. He lay limp and unmoving on his side, curled up around the tiny grey teddy-bear. His clothes, far from the elegant suits, were a pair of loose grey pants and a cotton shirt; hardly more than hospital-wear. He was bandaged almost everywhere, it seemed--his hands, his wrists, his feet, his forehead, his eyes; his shirt had ridden up slightly and showed the white curve of another bandage around his back and side. With all the grey and the white of his clothes, bandages and sheets, his dark hair stood in contrast, and that only made the grey in it look even more obvious. They weren't just flecks. They were quite obvious ribbons, trailing back from his temples.
He was a sick man. A wounded man. A wasted man.
His soul shone gold, the undistilled brilliance of a sunset whose clouds only made its beauty all the greater. The sight of it brought tears to Gabe's eyes.
Solomon lifted his head and smiled an oddly vulnerable smile, the sort of a trusting, unquestioning child. His voice was hoarse, but steady. Serene, even. "I knew you were here."
Gabe smiled back and went to him, kneeling by his bed, taking the hand not occupied with holding Kian. The tears were on his cheeks now; he let them fall. "D'you know how beautiful you look right now, pardner? You're all golden."
"I was about to say the same thing to you," Solomon murmured drowsily and with a quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Except I suspect you're blurrier to me than I am to you. Who's with you?"
"Valkyrie and Fletch," Gabe said, "and Erskine Ravel."
Solomon's eyebrows rose and his face shifted slightly in the others' direction. "Well, this is a surprise. Do come in to my humble abode. Valkyrie, you've done something with your clothes and makeup. They're less black. I approve."
Still holding Solomon's hand in his, Gabe rocked back on his heels, threw back his head and laughed.
no subject
With a gentle nudge Gabe urged Erskine out along with the others, following behind the shaken necromancer. His flames were burning still, small but now so hot that the edges of his shadows looked as if they might start to dissolve.
As soon as they were far enough from Tenebrae's office Gabriel said, "You don't have to show us the way. 'Sides, there's somethin' you've got that still belongs to Sol in your medical wing. Rather you wrapped 'em all up, y'know? No need to put things like that on display." His voice was even, but it still made Quiver stop short and turn to look at him. For a moment the necromancer's throat worked, and Gabe saw in him a burning desire.
One he quelled. Quiver was an extremely thoughtful man who had just discovered several extremely unnerving things, and he needed to process them before he added to them. The thing that made Quiver unique was that he recognised that trait, saw the escape-route Gabe was simultaneously offering and the salted wounds of which Gabe was aware by sending him to retrieve ... those. And he knew Gabe knew it, too. He knew, and the necromancer still nodded shortly, his hands tense but unclenched on his robes just before he reached up to take a key from his ring and hand it over.
"I'll bring them to his quarters for you."
He turned down another intersection, moving quickly, not quite as if trying to flee. The man was terrified, and he didn't even understand why. Yet.
But he would. Of that, Gabriel was certain. The Archangel turned to follow the luminous golden wash radiating down the corridor. It only seemed like a few seconds before they were before Solomon's door and Gabe was fitting the door to the lock, pushing it open. And there he was.
Solomon was at once the most pitiful thing imaginable and the most glorious thing in the world. He lay limp and unmoving on his side, curled up around the tiny grey teddy-bear. His clothes, far from the elegant suits, were a pair of loose grey pants and a cotton shirt; hardly more than hospital-wear. He was bandaged almost everywhere, it seemed--his hands, his wrists, his feet, his forehead, his eyes; his shirt had ridden up slightly and showed the white curve of another bandage around his back and side. With all the grey and the white of his clothes, bandages and sheets, his dark hair stood in contrast, and that only made the grey in it look even more obvious. They weren't just flecks. They were quite obvious ribbons, trailing back from his temples.
He was a sick man. A wounded man. A wasted man.
His soul shone gold, the undistilled brilliance of a sunset whose clouds only made its beauty all the greater. The sight of it brought tears to Gabe's eyes.
Solomon lifted his head and smiled an oddly vulnerable smile, the sort of a trusting, unquestioning child. His voice was hoarse, but steady. Serene, even. "I knew you were here."
Gabe smiled back and went to him, kneeling by his bed, taking the hand not occupied with holding Kian. The tears were on his cheeks now; he let them fall. "D'you know how beautiful you look right now, pardner? You're all golden."
"I was about to say the same thing to you," Solomon murmured drowsily and with a quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Except I suspect you're blurrier to me than I am to you. Who's with you?"
"Valkyrie and Fletch," Gabe said, "and Erskine Ravel."
Solomon's eyebrows rose and his face shifted slightly in the others' direction. "Well, this is a surprise. Do come in to my humble abode. Valkyrie, you've done something with your clothes and makeup. They're less black. I approve."
Still holding Solomon's hand in his, Gabe rocked back on his heels, threw back his head and laughed.