"If I didn't know any better I'd think you didn't trust my driving, Barn," Raphael whined, and then grinned. "Can I drive your car, then? Can I, can I?"
His wings were bouncing. Solomon stared, half incredulous and half just plainly amused. The Archangel's wings were bouncing with excitement. The ex-Necromancer was torn between thinking it was just wrong and musing that it actually kind of suited him. Rafe was rather like a giant puppy a good deal of the time.
Solomon decided to be amused.
"When you've brought the teenage Archangel back under control again, feel free to join us at the Catholic church on Chapel Street," the ex-Necromancer told Barney, turning toward Fletcher and holding out his hand for someone to take. "Who's servicing me this afternoon? You again, Ravel? I think I'd prefer someone with better driving skills, thank you."
"I need to go back to the Sanctuary before Tipstaff has his aneurysm," Corrival refused. "And I'm still too old for you anyway, boy."
"You're barely two centuries older," Solomon pointed out blandly and with an innocently-raised eyebrow. "Ghastly is over three centuries older than Tanith. Does that mean he's cradle-robbing?"
"Forget that," Rafe said with a wicked grin. "Gabe's sixty-five million years older than Skul-man here. Gabe, Gabe, Gabe." He tutted, ignoring the way his brother was growing steadily redder. "It's always the quiet--AWP!"
Quite suddenly, as if pelted by a sudden and very localised gust, the Archangel went tumbling head-over-heels, his feathers in disarray, beating hard and yet, somehow, interrupted so they didn't do anything more than make him land face-up hard on his back. Gabe looked away, whistling innocently, as he brought his own wing back in close again.
"I'd suggest you take note of the phrase you were about to finish and leash your mouth before he actually smites you," Merlin suggested blandly. Rafe looked up at him from the ground, blinking, and then grinned.
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His wings were bouncing. Solomon stared, half incredulous and half just plainly amused. The Archangel's wings were bouncing with excitement. The ex-Necromancer was torn between thinking it was just wrong and musing that it actually kind of suited him. Rafe was rather like a giant puppy a good deal of the time.
Solomon decided to be amused.
"When you've brought the teenage Archangel back under control again, feel free to join us at the Catholic church on Chapel Street," the ex-Necromancer told Barney, turning toward Fletcher and holding out his hand for someone to take. "Who's servicing me this afternoon? You again, Ravel? I think I'd prefer someone with better driving skills, thank you."
"I need to go back to the Sanctuary before Tipstaff has his aneurysm," Corrival refused. "And I'm still too old for you anyway, boy."
"You're barely two centuries older," Solomon pointed out blandly and with an innocently-raised eyebrow. "Ghastly is over three centuries older than Tanith. Does that mean he's cradle-robbing?"
"Forget that," Rafe said with a wicked grin. "Gabe's sixty-five million years older than Skul-man here. Gabe, Gabe, Gabe." He tutted, ignoring the way his brother was growing steadily redder. "It's always the quiet--AWP!"
Quite suddenly, as if pelted by a sudden and very localised gust, the Archangel went tumbling head-over-heels, his feathers in disarray, beating hard and yet, somehow, interrupted so they didn't do anything more than make him land face-up hard on his back. Gabe looked away, whistling innocently, as he brought his own wing back in close again.
"I'd suggest you take note of the phrase you were about to finish and leash your mouth before he actually smites you," Merlin suggested blandly. Rafe looked up at him from the ground, blinking, and then grinned.
"Where'd be the fun in that?"