"Much, thank you." Solomon still felt a bit weary, but it was most definitely in the sense of healing, now. He would be tired again in a few hours, but he could have gotten up and moved around a bit--if it weren't for the fact that Erskine was lying on him. Between the metaphysical peace and the lack of people to take pictures, Solomon had opted not to try and get up just yet.

Though he would probably have to, soon.

He didn't ask who the stranger was, mostly because, to Solomon, he didn't look like a man at all. For one, he had a halo. And for another, he had a pair of wings.

There were a number of things that could have been said to Michael. 'How did you get here?' for one. 'When?' for another. 'Are we in danger?' was a good one too. 'Did you know your brother is in love?'

Solomon settled for: "I don't suppose you have a camera handy?"

He couldn't remember exactly when he'd been hijacked into the drunken snugglefest, having been asleep, but however it had begun, Erskine had since stolen the blanket Dexter had made. His soul was wrapped in the light sheen of the construct. Additionally, Solomon could feel the man's head in his shoulder and one hand clutching his shirt. He could only imagine what it actually looked like, but he was certain it was worth being called blackmail material.