"There is," Solomon said, his gaze trained on the angels in the corner, "one very obvious solution to that: we use angel statues." Gabe blinked a little, startled, and Rafe made a face, but Merlin's soul was scudding with snow across its banks as if with a gentle breeze. Contemplation.

"Public awareness of angels," Solomon went on, "changes somewhat, it's true, but at their most basic they are God's soldiers and messengers to man. That means any angel imbued with some sort of awareness will be inherently submissive to a greater purpose. No offence."

The last was said toward the Archangels, and this time it was Gabe making the face. Rafe gave a rolling shrug. "Sixty-five million years without a clue I could choose to have a pizza for breakfast, man," he said. "Sounds legit to me. 'Course, that don't mean I couldn't decide what I'd have on the pizza if I could have one, if y'get me."

"The last thing we want is to have things with angel powers running around the Sanctuary," Corrival pointed out. "Other than actual angels, I mean." A beat. "Actually, no, we don't particularly need them either. No offence."

The last was said with utmost asperity, and this time Rafe's 'None taken' was echoed by Gabe as well, the younger Archangel suppressing a chagrined smile.

"They won't," Kenspeckle said. "Things like this won't become what they represent, simply take on the behavioural patterns of such. The risk in this case is the public belief of angels being rather, er ..."

"Smitey?" Corrival suggested dryly.

"Precisely. But even then, they'll be bound to a greater purpose. In this case, protecting the Irish Sanctuary."

"So at least they'll be smitey in our favour," Corrival mused. "I might be able to live with that. Anyone else?"