Despite the fact that it was entirely unnecessary for his shirt to be cut off at all, because it wasn't exactly a shirt, Gabriel submitted quietly to the professor's insistence, still with that tiny amused smile. He didn't mean the amusement in any bad way; if anything, when coupled with the way Gabriel watched the professor's actions carefully, it almost seemed delighted--as if Gabriel was genuinely fascinated by Kenspeckle's medical process.

It was giving Kenspeckle the heeby-jeebies. He would have liked to say he was grateful for a patient who didn't argue, but the quiet attention Gabriel paid him was almost inhuman. Not condescending, but still, there was something there that--

Bespoke couldn't possibly be implying what Kenspeckle thought he was implying. Talking about a universe in which Biblical events were real, with a patient named Gabriel? Ghastly could have at least been more subtle. The professor chose not to answer while he snipped at the shirt, careful not to cut Gabriel, his hands gentle as his tone and demeanour weren't. "It's possible, I suppose," he said at last. "Of course, even in this reality I imagine a lot of the Bible is historical fact. A great many things attributed to--" He snorted. "--divinity were merely cases of sorcerers revealing their powers to mortals. Take Jesus, for example!"

He was getting enthusiastic, now, despite himself, but wasn't completely clueless to any of the reactions around him or the gaze Gabriel rested on him. He ignored it. "It's fairly obvious he was an Adept," Kenspeckle continued. Snip, snip, snip went the scissors. "An exceedingly powerful and arrogant Adept, obviously, to be casting himself as the Son of God, but given the kinds of 'miracles' than went on at that time--well, there isn't really any doubt he was a sorcerer."

With one final snip the shirt parted and Kenspeckle laid down the scissors to push it off Gabriel. The man tried to assist, but he hissed between his teeth as he moved the wrong way and Kenspeckle gently slapped his hands away, throwing a look at Bespoke as he did. "I'm not unaware what you're implying, Bespoke. The Archangel Gabriel--the Messenger of God, if I'm not mistaken. You're some kind of Teleporter, I suppose?" That was directed at Gabriel himself. "It makes good sense. What could be better as a messenger than a Teleporter?"

He shrugged, wadded up the shirt and tossed it into the bin. "Of course, you're not actually an angel," he continued, pulling his tray closer and eyeing Gabriel critically. There was no evidence of bruising on his chest, so the professor moved around the table, dragging the trolley with him. "Physically speaking--on a basis of physics, of course, not biology--angels couldn't exist. There would be no way for any physical construct to contain the kind of power the Bible purports angels to have, and metaphysically speaking we'd notice if such large amounts of energy were being flung around. The construct of the universe wouldn't be able to tolerate it."

There was no evidence of injury on Gabriel's back, either. To all intents and purposes, the man looked like an ordinary, rather perfectly proportioned young man. Kenspeckle frowned and laid a hand on Gabriel's back, seeking out any evidence of harm with his magic, and found nothing. There was a tingle against his palm, the tingle of magic--foreign, but that was understandable--yet no injuries that he could sense. "What the Devil is going on here, Bespoke? Is this a joke? This man isn't injured at all."

Gabriel looked up at Ghastly, his expression equal parts ruefulness, amusement and patience, and his lips twitched.