Though they're dreadful and Cthonic, they're still weak when embryonic...
As dawn approaches in the Wood, something rolls across the landscape like a thunderstorm - it comes with a sense of pressure, a soundless roar that shakes trees and earth briefly before moving on. It may wake some of the newcomers to the Wood in their beds; others may notice it only dimly, roll over, and return to sleep. Whatever it is, it doesn't
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Neal's still passed out, so he figures he has a bit of time to investigate and collect evidence like a boss. He walks around the edge of it, not going in - not alone, he's seen his share of Halloween horror marathons, and he's sure as hell not testing his luck like that - but just poking at the stalks. Curious, he opens up one of the ears to find...
Candy corn. Peter stares at it in silence for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. On the one hand, it's obviously a weirdo magic-type cornfield thing that wasn't here before and is just as obviously not to be trusted. On the other hand, it's freaking candy corn and he hasn't had anything sugar-related in weeks. Another few moments of silent debate before he digs a hand in and chows down. The look on his face might be described as 'divine ecstasy'.
"Oh, yeah."
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And down. You're a short vessel-wearing angel thing, Gabe.
His ears go slightly red as he hurriedly gulps down the giant mouthful of corn he's got going. Well, this is embarrassing. "Sorry," he says, coughing lightly because. Seriously, some of that candy still wasn't chewed. "Didn't know anybody else was out here."
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"It's probably a free country," he says with the tone of someone speaking to someone who might be slow in the head... It loses its effect because he's still speaking around a mouth full of candy corn. He finally swallows and goes back to poking the corn. Actual corn, actual corn... CANDY NIRVANA.
"And better me than the overly religious children, huh, big guy?" He walks past and claps Peter on the arm with a lot more strength than one so tiny should have with the hand currently not full of candy corn. "I figure it's inevitable at this point. I'm reaping the benefits before this goes so far south, the whole forest is next door to Mexico."
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Rubbing his arm gingerly, he snorts quietly as he follows the little guy. ...What. He doesn't want to be out here alone. Again. Horror-genre savvy. He has it. "At this point, I don't think I'd be surprised by a gaggle of Ezekiels popping up with pitchforks," he comments blithely. "And I'm pretty sure this damn forest's already halfway to hell, so. Break out the maracas." He picks an ear at random, and boom. More candy. He proceeds to pour a good amount in his mouth.
The next chance he's sure he can talk without spraying candy corn bits, he offers, "Peter. Figure you're another one stuck in Camp What-the-actual-hell out here?"
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"More like the angel than you'd think." He doesn't even turn around- just waggles his fingers in Peter's general direction. "Eat your lapsed Catholic heart out."
Before Peter can properly gibber, Gabriel turns around. "So if He Who Walks Behind the Rows shows up? I got his number. Lucky you, hm?"
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Because he can't be... Not really. (Though part of him - at least the part not flailing over the now-proven fact that he's kind of gone and screwed himself over religiously with the whole lapsing thing - notes this is slightly less freakish than talking with Buffy the freaking Vampire Slayer.) The fact that his brain is breaking again should excuse him from the temporary lack of mouth-brain filter.
"...I always figured you'd be taller. Not you personally, you know, but angels in general."
He immediately clamps his mouth shut after that though - thankfully that function is still online while he does a mental reboot.
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He about-faces and fixes Peter with an irritated stare. "We're not Oopma-Loompas, jackass- size varies depending on the vessel. If I was in my real form... Let's just say this conversation would be a lot more complicated."
And bloody. Let's not forget bloody.
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Strangely, that makes this a little easier to accept.
"Yeah, I've seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, and I've gotta say - kind of fond of my face in a non-melting state."
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"Oh please," Gabriel scoffs and then adds, nonchalantly, "It'd just be your eyes." He turns around and starts meandering through the corn again, like losing his eyes is so much more reassuring.
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Peter scoffs quietly, and keeps after him, shaking out another handful of candy corn. "Oh well, gosh, that's so reassuring," he says, sarcasm only at teasing levels instead of bitchtastic.
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...He meant to say boyfriend. To be a dick. It came out brother. WAS SOMEONE A LITTLE JEALOUS OF THAT LEVEL OF PROTECTIVENESS? ....Maybe.
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He stiffens at the angel calling Neal his brother - the only other to call him that was that white-eyed bastard, and so... Yeah. Bad associations. He shakes the discomfiture off before answering. "He's not my brother, and. ...Kind of. We're still working that."
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His mouth thins into a line at the prime-time promo of his life, ultimately frowning at Gabe. "Sorry it's not more entertaining," he retorts, with more than a small amount of bite to his voice. He doesn't like his entire life being an open book, or having that book written off as some kind of cliche pushed to the Friday night death slot. ...Okay, so he's mixing up his media there. Whatever. Point still stands. "But I don't recall forcing you to tune in so if you could maybe not, I'd appreciate that."
An uncomfortable few moments longer before he can't contain himself any more. "...And I'm not forcing him to do anything, let's just get that straight."
Well, it's half true. The deal was Neal's idea in the first place to get this damn deal started, and. It'd always been Neal's choice.
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