Gabriel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
impudentsongbird) wrote2012-08-20 08:38 pm
impudentsongbird) wrote2012-08-20 08:38 pm
Entry tags:
let me be the one you call / if you jump I'll break your fall
1 | into the breach
2 | finding skulduggery
3 | retreat to the tunnels
4 | into the cacophony
5 | sanctuary in the cathedral
6 | reuniting old friends
7 | kenspeckle's new patient
8 | holy water and disinfectant
9 | objecting to china sorrows
10 | the roadtrip
11 | baffling guild
12 | shenanigans at the safehouse
13 | reassuring fletcher
14 | valkyrie's intervention
15 | solomon's revelation
16 | visiting the edgleys
17 | recalled to the sanctuary
18 | guild's confusion
19 | gabe is busted
20 | the psychic tattoist
21 | envisioning the cacophony
22 | angel's first migraine
23 | the morning after
24 | china and solomon
25 | detectives' council of war
26 | china's foolishness
27 | the collector dethroned
28 | finding crux
29 | skulduggery's vileness revealed
30 | sorrows in aftermath
31 | finding equilibrium
32 | the devil's number
33 | at the carnival
34 | meeting authorities
35 | solomon's confession
36 | the stray soul
37 | sanguine unsettled
38 | solomon's choice
39 | a cowboy underground
40 | in scarab's basement
41 | striking midnight
42 | craven contested
43 | emergency services
44 | on your feet
45 | and don't stop moving
46 | easy recognition
47 | a deuce of an evening
48 | engines roaring
49 | compromising judgements
50 | solomon's conflict
51 | axis turning
52 | thinking circular
53 | blasting the past
54 | reviling vile
Book Five: Mortal Coil
55 | sanctuary unsanctified
56 | shudder unravelling
57 | catching an angel
58 | layering dimensions
59 | dead men meeting
60 | when it rains
61 | power plays
62 | sing on gold
63 | the valley of death
64 | grand aspersions
65 | no evil feared
66 | new days rising
67 | angelic neuroses
68 | step-brothers working
69 | the many sorrows of china
70 | peacefully wreathed
71 | tarnished gold
72 | the secret in darkness
73 | magical intent
74 | scars worth keeping
75 | benefits of a beau
76 | grand magery
77 | lighting the darkness
78 | old dogs and new tricks
79 | flouting traditions
80 | drawing lines
81 | brothers and sisters in arms
82 | channelling angels
83 | return of the carnies
84 | the death bringers
85 | meriting agelessness
86 | knick knack, paddy
87 | give a dog a bone
88 | americans propheteering
89 | the right side of honour
90 | tailored shocks
91 | hosting angels
92 | elders anonymous
93 | rediscovered strays
94 | changings and changelings
95 | a state of reflection
96 | adding hope
97 | the devil's truth
98 | dead mens' hospitality
99 | lives half lived
100 | next to godliness
101 | devilish plans
102 | beached angels
103 | lights of revelation
104 | heroes worshipped
105 | new devilries
106 | angels under the yoke
107 | brains frozen
108 | father, mother, daughter
109 | parental guidance recommended
110 | driven round the bend
111 | ongoing training
112 | privileged information
113 | reasonable men
114 | passing the buck
115 | gifting magicks
116 | strengths and weaknesses
117 | immaturity's perks
118 | priests and prophets
119 | scaling evil
120 | blowing covers
121 | marring an afternoon
122 | lie detection
123 | five-dimensional pain
124 | reliving nightmares
125 | taking stock
126 | sampling spices
127 | sleeping prophets lying
128 | rueful returns
129 | dead men reunion
130 | medically-approved hugs
The life of an angel was a contradiction in changes and stability. On one hand, they understood very well the way the cosmos was shaped by events within it. On the other, they stood at one step apart from it—or at least had, for a very long time, up until their Master's recent wager with Lucifer. Changes in the recent past had, even for angels, been fast and turbulent, but there were none that concerned Raphael more than Gabriel's abrupt reserve.
In the aftermath of the wager Gabriel had been almost the only one to know where their Lord was at any given time, a fact which had put the Archangel very firmly under Lucifer's radar. Raphael had joked that Gabriel ought to arm himself with more jokes or worse clothes to drive the fallen angel away; Michael had offered the peace of the Garden Coast. (Rafe thought his idea was better.)
Either way, even though their Master was fair hidden, every angel knew that they had only to ask Gabriel and the Archangel would pass on a message.
Then Gabriel had simply blipped off the radar himself. Poof! Gone! No one had noticed at first, because, well, they weren't exactly in constant connection. It was just when Raphael had taken a whim to seek out his younger brother that he'd noticed it, and let it be, because there was absolutely a reason for it. Gabe did not just off and vanish, except that once with his self-exile, and that didn’t count.
But when Gabriel had come back, he had been strangely agitated and yet close-mouthed. The younger Archangel had vanished off to wherever their Master was hidden for a long chat Raphael was dying to have listened into, and yet couldn't (but only partly because it would have been rude). Now he was here, floating among the stars and examining a black hole with unnerving intensity.
For a time Raphael watched without letting on that he was there, but eventually Gabriel spoke. “I’d rather you came to join me instead of lurking, brother.”
Absolutely refusing to feel chagrined, Raphael let himself manifest with an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders and ruffled the younger angel’s hair. Gabriel threw a fond, longsuffering glance up at him, but there was something in his eyes, something distracted and sharp, which indicated that Gabriel still wasn’t truly present. Raphael only wished he knew where the other Archangel was.
“Just wondering what you’re doin’ all the way out here,” he said teasingly. “There’s a party going on down there on Earth, Gabe.” There was always a party going on down on Earth. “You oughta be down there bobbin’ for apples and switching up party-hats!”
“I can’t,” Gabriel said quietly, with a sort of seriousness Raphael had, for all Gabriel’s literalness, rarely heard from him. So Raphael fell into the same seriousness, lost his playful accent, and spoke directly.
“Why not, brother? You’ve been reserved of late. I conf—I’m worried for you.”
For a very long time Gabriel said nothing and stared into the slow-turning swirl of the black hole. Raphael waited patiently, his arm still companionably across the other Archangel’s shoulders. Eventually Gabriel spoke. “Did you know, Raphael,” he said, “that the universe you see around you here isn’t the only one our Master has created?”
Raphael was so startled that he couldn’t answer. That wasn’t what he was imagining. He hadn’t been sure what he’d been imagining, but that wasn’t it. “I’m not sure what you mean, Gabriel,” he said after a moment. “Our Lord told me the story of Creation not all that long ago, and he never mentioned anything of the kind.”
Gabriel nodded. “He told me that story as well. And then He asked if I really wanted to know details.” He hesitated. “I … admit, I declined. It’s something He said—about faith. I decided I didn’t need to know details. But it’s true, nevertheless. Just beyond this …” The Archangel reached out his hand and touched that gossamer and unbreakable fabric that supported reality. “There are other universes, even with different versions of us.”
“Different versions of us?” Raphael repeated, appalled and uncertain and entirely confused. How could that be possible? What could their Master want with more than one of any of them? What was going on? Where had Gabriel gone in that time he’d vanished? Then something occurred to him and he smiled with relief. “This is a joke, right?”
Gabriel looked up at him and smiled back with such a gentle understanding that for a moment Raphael felt very small indeed. “No, Rafe. I’m not joking. It was a shock to me too. That isn’t the point, though.”
“Isn’t it?” Raphael asked, feeling as dazed as an angel possibly could, especially when he wasn’t even inhabiting an actual physical body.
“No.” Gabriel returned to watching the black hole intently. “I met some people from other realities. One of them is in a kind of Hell, and he very much does not deserve it. I promised him that, if I could, I would save him from it.”
Which did not in the least explain why Gabe was staring at a black hole, let alone a million other questions Raphael would have liked to ask and for which he couldn’t find the words. Finally he found one. “How?”
“First,” Gabriel said with a sort of tranquillity Raphael had heard in his brother’s voice a million times but never after delivering so turbulent a piece of news, “I’m going to jimmy open a crack in the door through this hole.”
Raphael stared at Gabe, and then at the black hole, and then back at Gabe. He opened his mouth to ask whether their Master knew he was planning this and then closed it, because that was a stupid question. He opened it again to query if Gabriel had asked whether he could go around lifting the sheets and then realised that was also a stupid question, because whether he had or not, their Master probably would have told him to do what he felt was best.
It was equally clear that Gabriel very much planned to go through with this, no matter what Raphael said, and really, did Raphael have the right to object? Surely if this carried a risk, their Master would have already forbidden Gabriel from making the attempt?
“I’ll come with,” Raphael said at last, and this time when Gabriel glanced back the younger Archangel’s expression was startled. A moment later that expression shifted into grateful apology.
“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I’m not entirely certain I’ll make it through, and we can hardly leave Michael here alone.” He grinned. “Did you see what he was wearing last festival day on the Garden Coast? He hasn’t moved out of the eighteenth century yet. How would he possibly handle the rest of the world?”
Raphael laughed out loud, warm but startled, and the sound of it rang through space. Gabriel chuckled quietly beside him, and for a few minutes there was just companionable humour that faded into an equally comfortable silence.
Still, Raphael had a lot of questions. How did Gabriel plan to find his friend, let alone the universe he was in? How was he going to get back? What would he do if he met another version of himself? Or, worse, Lucifer? Finally the Archangel just asked, “Have you figured out how to crack open the door?”
“I think so,” Gabriel said, considering the black hole. “Once I figured out what to look for. I wouldn’t have gotten even that far if it weren’t for some things our Master said.”
Which meant that, in some fashion, this expedition was sanctioned by their Master, Raphael translated, and something tense in him relaxed. “Something do to with this drain here, I’ll bet,” he said, falling into his casual accent once more. “Gonna rip out the kitchen sink, li’l brother?”
“Just to see what’s hiding underneath,” Gabriel said with a grin.
“I’ll try’n keep it open for ya,” Raphael promised, and Gabriel sent him a smile which lit up the very space around them with its brilliance.
“Thank you, Rafe,” he said, and straightened. Raphael took his arm away as Gabriel lifted his hands, not exactly stepping back so much as giving Gabriel space. The youngest Archangel didn’t often reveal his power, but it was always a sight to see, a song to hear, when he did.
As it was now. Gabriel’s voice started deep, lifted high, split and wove and became more melodies than one would think a single being could possibly sing at once. The sound of it made Raphael’s heart soar, made him want to fly and laugh. It was so deep, so light, so resonating that it was physical; it touched the slow turn of the black hole and made it, for just the briefest of moments, still. In that moment Gabriel sent a carefully-aimed bolt of energy into the heart of it.
It was the kind of sight Raphael hadn’t seen in thousands of years, a play of physics and metaphysics which he hadn’t thought possible, let alone imagined. There was an eruption in the centre of the black hole, where gravity was condensed; the cascade of energy plumed upward and was dragged back down as quick, a tear in the fabric of the reality not allowed the time to widen or become a danger.
Raphael didn’t even know Gabe had moved until the younger Archangel was gone, he was so busy staring in awe. With a start the Archangel stretched out his senses and just barely managed to catch a glimpse of his brother shooting toward the hole at speeds few angels could have achieved through such a gravity well. Raphael certainly couldn’t have.
How, he suddenly wondered, was he meant to keep that open if he didn’t even have the speed of thought to track Gabriel’s movements through it?
Desperately the Archangel cast about for something to jam in the door, as it were. There was some dark matter nearby and with a thought he fashioned it into a spear and pitched it toward the centre of the black hole. It struck just as Gabriel flitted through the crack nearly wholly collapsed in on itself; the star’s gravity caught it, pulled it in, and plugged the opening like a metaphysical sink.
Slowly Raphael made every part of himself relax. For good or ill, Gabe was gone on this quest of his, and now Raphael should probably go and round up some of their younger siblings to guard the area. Just in case.
into the breach | finding skulduggery | retreat to the tunnels | into the cacophony | sanctuary in the cathedral | reuniting old friends | kenspeckle's new patient | holy water and disinfectant | objecting to china sorrows | the roadtrip | baffling guild | shenanigans at the safehouse | reassuring fletcher | valkyrie's intervention | solomon's revelation | visiting the edgleys | recalled to the sanctuary | guild's confusion | gabe is busted | the psychic tattoist | envisioning the cacophony | angel's first migraine | the morning after | china and solomon | detectives' council of war | china's foolishness | the collector dethroned | finding crux | skulduggery's vileness revealed | sorrows in aftermath | finding equilibrium | the devil's number | at the carnival | meeting authorities | solomon's confession | the stray soul | sanguine unsettled | solomon's choice | a cowboy underground | in scarab's basement | striking midnight | craven contested | emergency services | on your feet | and don't stop moving | easy recognition | a deuce of an evening | engines roaring | compromising judgements | solomon's conflict | axis turning | thinking circular | blasting the past | reviling vile
sanctuary unsanctified | shudder unravelling | catching an angel | layering dimensions | dead men meeting | when it rains | power plays | sing on gold | the valley of death | grand aspersions | no evil feared | new days rising | angelic neuroses | step-brothers working | the many sorrows of china | peacefully wreathed | tarnished gold | the secret in darkness | magical intent | scars worth keeping | benefits of a beau | grand magery | lighting the darkness | old dogs and new tricks | flouting traditions | drawing lines | brothers and sisters in arms | channelling angels | return of the carnies | the death bringers | meriting agelessness | knick knack, paddy | give a dog a bone | americans propheteering | the right side of honour | tailored shocks | hosting angels | elders anonymous | rediscovered strays | changings and changelings | a state of reflection | adding hope | the devil's truth | dead mens' hospitality | lives half lived | next to godliness | devilish plans | beached angels | lights of revelation | heroes worshipped | new devilries | angels under the yoke | brains frozen | father, mother, daughter | parental guidance recommended | driven round the bend | ongoing training | privileged information | reasonable men | passing the buck | gifting magicks | strengths and weaknesses | immaturity's perks | priests and prophets | scaling evil | blowing covers | marring an afternoon | lie detection | five-dimensional pain | reliving nightmares | taking stock | sampling spices | sleeping prophets lying | rueful returns | dead men reunion | medically-approved hugs
no subject
"Hey, man, I'm not sure whether to be approvin' or disappointed on Gabe's behalf. Here I'd have figured you want him under your hands all day long."
Gabe's face reddened and he made a very un-angel-like strangled noise, his hand jerking up as he made to--to--to do something. Like maybe take Rafe's voice. Except he couldn't, because he'd just promised, and Rafe was dancing away laughing like a loon while Gabe stood there blushing.
All of a sudden he wasn't sure about this 'free-will' thing. It shouldn't have even been embarrassing, at least not for himself. Rafe knew he wasn't interested in sex.
It was just that Skulduggery was embarrassed. Because Skulduggery was new enough to these feelings, and he had been a sexual being, and it implied things that were inappropriate without even considering that Skulduggery considered this inappropriate to begin with. So even though it was embarrassment on Skulduggery's behalf, it was intense, uncomfortable, and something Gabe could do a great deal without.
He ran quickly through several courses of action before decided ignoring Rafe was once again the better part of valour and turned back to Skulduggery. "I'll trade you one use of my healed wings if we can start on this investigation now, with whomever wants to join us."
"Oh, good, 'cos I always wondered--"
"--except him," Gabe added, politely ignoring his brother. Or at least as politely as possible when he was still red and outright ignoring someone.
The Archangel was almost certain that, right at this moment, it was an offer Skulduggery wouldn't be able to refuse. Gabe couldn't blame him at all. And when Skulduggery took him up on that offer, he swept the detective away while trying not to think of all the quips about the two of them being alone which Raphael was going to make in their absence.
~~~
Something was wrong. Something was--something was wrong. Very wrong. It wasn't any physical sense; not sound, not taste, not smell or touch and most certainly not sight, because he was fairly sure his eyes were closed. At least, he hoped his eyes were closed. He couldn't be entirely sure, because there was something about this blackness that was also ... wrong.
To be perfectly honest, Solomon wasn't even sure that he was awake. He felt like he was drifting, half-aware, in a haze. Except for a whisper ... some sort of whisper. Not anything from which he could hear details. Just enough to know there was one. And it was cold. It was so, so cold.
He wasn't shivering. He couldn't even feel his body.
He wasn't awake.
But then suddenly, with that realisation, he was. There was a hard stone floor under him. His eyelids flickered and dim light shone through their cracks. He took a breath and it hurt, hurt not because he was injured but because the motion had all other sensations filtering in. A low ring in his ears which he realised sounded exactly like the Scream. The cold, cold that twisted his insides, made him feel like there was a pin of ice in his heart. Something cold and seething, something which pricked his skin from inside out as if seeking an exit--or a fix.
Solomon cried out breathlessly and curled in on himself, breathing in the suffocating magic of death in this dimly lit room, and remembered.
Exiting the Hibernian wasn't as easy as just stepping out the front door, no matter how much Solomon watched it. There were backdoors, ones the ex-Necromancer had covered once he was well enough to actually scout them--and Skulduggery had pointed them out to him. Or refused to, until Solomon could point them out himself. Solomon had been caustic at the time, but he couldn't deny he'd appreciated the distraction.
Now he hurried through the backstreets, his heart pounding slowly, his skin alive with adrenaline. He was eminently aware of everything around him, the gun in one side of his coat and the knife in the other. And yet neither mattered; if he was found, he was a dead man.
So he just had to be careful not to be found.
He should have known better.
It wasn't that he had relaxed his guard. He hadn't. It probably wasn't even that he hadn't been careful enough while leaving. He'd been as careful as it was possible to be.
Sometimes being careful just wasn't enough.
Solomon felt the magic in the sick turn of his stomach, the sudden chill, the way his skin prickled in a way adrenaline just couldn't do. He stopped short on his way down the alley, his breath catching and hand snapping toward the gun. Even that short distance wasn't enough.
The Necromantic fist struck him just as his fingers grazed the handle; Solomon went flying back and hit the wall, winded twice over. He gasped for breath and his knees shook, but he didn't fall; something freezing yanked him back upright against the wall. Solomon's chest ached with lack of air, the shadows around his wrists and shoulders making his skin burn with ice and something deep within him coil and uncoil. He was helpless to do anything as Tenebrae walked forward and quite calmly rifled through Solomon's coat for both his weapons, tossing them carelessly aside.
"Solomon," he said in an admonishing, fatherly tone, "I'm disappointed in you. First you betray me--no." He shook his head. "You betray the Temple, the faith, and then you expect us to have given up watching you after only two days. For shame."
Solomon coughed, dragged in air, and managed to hold it. That didn't mean he could talk, though he tried; all that came out was a croak. Tenebrae lifted a hand. "No, no; there's no need for that. It really doesn't matter what you have to say. What matters, Solomon--" Tenebrae's voice turned gently stern. "--what matters is that you come home."
There were others in the alley, Solomon was dimly aware. Others drawing shadows and magic after them, shadows which shrieked in his head and made that tightness in his body worsen until his whole being rang with it. He tried to talk, but all that came out with a groan.
He didn't even see who struck the blow.
Laying on the hard stone floor, Solomon wrapped his arms around himself and tried to breathe. It was hard--almost impossible. His magic bubbled under his skin, whispering and demanding and scattering his thoughts everywhere. His mouth was dry, his stomach roiled, but his throat was too closed for even the consideration that anything might come up.
He was at the Temple, he knew. He couldn't be anywhere else. He was at the Temple, in one of the dungeons. At the Temple, in a dungeon, and all around him was death, death, death--
His magic shrieked and coiled with helpless need for an exit, and Solomon's body clenched, his fingernails digging hard enough into his palms to draw blood. The shadows around him were still; the war wasn't in them. He had no means by which to control them.
It hadn't been this bad at the Hibernian, Solomon thought dizzily.
He hadn't been in the middle of Ireland's most powerful seat of Necromantic magic at the Hibernian.
After an interminable length of time Solomon's body relaxed and he sank against the floor, panting, his shaking hands wrapped in his shirt to try and stave off the sting in his palms. Someone had taken his coat. It was dark. Dark, and whispering, and all the while, his magic simmered under his skin.
And he wondered how long he'd be able to resist it.