Most of what Clarabelle was doing was a matter of standing by the professor, humming, and stroking Gabriel's feathers when Kenspeckle wasn't snapping at her to take down notes (or at least give him the notebook). The professor asked numerous questions regarding the nature of Gabriel's existence and usual method of healing injuries, some of which Gabriel couldn't answer in a way even Kenspeckle could wrap his head around (not that the sorcerer was in any way put off; if anything, it only put a greater gleam of interest in his eyes).

"I assume you do have some method of healing," Kenspeckle was saying as Skulduggery came in.

"Not personally," Gabriel admitted. "Rafe and Michael are the ones with the talent in healing, and neither of them usually have to use it on us. It--feels a bit similar to what you're doing, though. I mean, as far as I have felt them while healing."

"Hrm." Kenspeckle tried not to look too pleased by the fact his magic was compared favourably to the Archangels of healing and medicine, especially given he didn't really believe in all of this guff, no sirree. This was an entirely scientific occurrence. It had to be; if Gabriel existed, and he obviously did, his existence had to be scientifically bound in some fashion. Kenspeckle just ... didn't know what it was. He glanced at Skulduggery and lifted one eyebrow in a 'well, what do you want?' sort of fashion, and then went back to scribbling some notes.

"Quite well, all things considered." Gabriel smiled at Skulduggery. The Archangel looked and sounded much better, if only because the bottle of holy water was now empty and due to the experimental bouts of pain-numbing magic Kenspeckle had been giving him. They never lasted, but until the professor figured out just what it would cost him, keeping his magic in reserve was wise. "This head suits you much better. It's got higher cheekbones."