"That would be best," Gabe agreed. "We don't want her to look out the window and see you across the street." The Archangel glanced at Fletcher. "I'll give you a call if I need help fast, okay?"
With that he opened the door and stepped out of the Bentley, using the car as a cover so he wouldn't be seen from the windows. He ducked down an alley nearby as if taking a shortcut, waiting for the Bentley to move off and that there was no one nearby to see anything, and then pulled a new cloak over himself. Well, not a new one, really. A very old one, actually. A woman. He used it with relative frequency, except that he hadn't used it here before, for obvious reasons.
It took him a moment to get the clothes right. Having someone wander around only half-dressed for Irish weather was a sure sign to Marr that something was off, or indicate a relation to an odd cowboy who did the same. In his male form Gabe didn't mind the odd looks, so he wore what he enjoyed best, but this was different. This was going undercover.
So he chose something suited to the rundown area of the neighbourhood, well-worn if not ragged, but clean and well-kept. Clothes for a woman who understood the others' situations, but could take care of herself. Faded jeans, worn sneakers, sleeveless top, jacket. No make-up. He didn't want to look too business-like. Just one of the girls.
Right. Scraping hair off his neck and back into a loose ponytail, Gabe jogged across the road, glancing this way and that for traffic, and pushed the door open. The building was more than just a support-group--it was a halfway home. As broken down as the rest of the neighbourhood, but with clear signs of care and the determination to get it fixed up--enough that it was in better condition once you took a closer look.
It was the hope.
There were a few women in the lobby, and they looked up when Gabe entered. He gave them a little half-smile, sheepish and unassertive but not shy, and they left him alone as he moved to the front desk. The woman manning it was on the phone, so he stood quietly beside the desk to wait, glancing around the halfway-home, taking in the surroundings and mapping the place in his mind to give back to Skulduggery.
no subject
With that he opened the door and stepped out of the Bentley, using the car as a cover so he wouldn't be seen from the windows. He ducked down an alley nearby as if taking a shortcut, waiting for the Bentley to move off and that there was no one nearby to see anything, and then pulled a new cloak over himself. Well, not a new one, really. A very old one, actually. A woman. He used it with relative frequency, except that he hadn't used it here before, for obvious reasons.
It took him a moment to get the clothes right. Having someone wander around only half-dressed for Irish weather was a sure sign to Marr that something was off, or indicate a relation to an odd cowboy who did the same. In his male form Gabe didn't mind the odd looks, so he wore what he enjoyed best, but this was different. This was going undercover.
So he chose something suited to the rundown area of the neighbourhood, well-worn if not ragged, but clean and well-kept. Clothes for a woman who understood the others' situations, but could take care of herself. Faded jeans, worn sneakers, sleeveless top, jacket. No make-up. He didn't want to look too business-like. Just one of the girls.
Right. Scraping hair off his neck and back into a loose ponytail, Gabe jogged across the road, glancing this way and that for traffic, and pushed the door open. The building was more than just a support-group--it was a halfway home. As broken down as the rest of the neighbourhood, but with clear signs of care and the determination to get it fixed up--enough that it was in better condition once you took a closer look.
It was the hope.
There were a few women in the lobby, and they looked up when Gabe entered. He gave them a little half-smile, sheepish and unassertive but not shy, and they left him alone as he moved to the front desk. The woman manning it was on the phone, so he stood quietly beside the desk to wait, glancing around the halfway-home, taking in the surroundings and mapping the place in his mind to give back to Skulduggery.