[RP] Dark was the night, cold was the ground, I could barely make out the sound...

[painhumbles]

All's quiet on Chicago streets. There's snow on the ground, ice clinging to places where the salt trucks can't get to, and at this hour most people are in bed like any sane person should be.

Sane is relative in Chicago, of course.

In front of the Empress Theater, a Rift springs to life and 5'7 worth of Biblical Archangel-slash-Trickster God

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[whateverthemess]

Murphy was out for a walk, on the alert for monsters, on the alert for... Anything, really. It's been a quiet few weeks. She hasn't seen Michael, the Doctor, the Trickster, Des, though she's talked to Des a few times since they met. There's still no sign of Harry.

Murphy closes her eyes and tilts her face skyward at the sun that isn't there. She's going to go crazy if she doesn't hear something soon. Even a trail to follow in the case of Michael's kidnappings would be a blessing.

She's rounding the corner to the front of the Empress when she hears the Trickster's voice. Murphy hisses in a breath and races around the corner and skids to a halt.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Who did he kill?

[painhumbles]

It's technically been, oh... Maybe a month? No, maybe three, since Gabriel's been in Chicago. The fact that it's still winter means either no time has passed at all or it's been longer here. Or maybe the White Witch has descended on Chicago. He doesn't fucking know or care.

That said, it's hard to forget Murphy. He stares at her like he isn't holding a bloodied knife and didn't just kill one of his brothers, quirking an eyebrow.

"...What?" Yeah. That's all he has to say, after three months. HE'S A LITTLE SHELLSHOCKED HIMSELF, MURPHY. That and she's looking at him like he killed her grandmother.

[whateverthemess]

Her eyes narrow--being on the defensive is almost instinctive in a conversation with him, but now... You only knew him for a week, she reminds herself. He's an angel. The truth is you don't really know him at all.

She still likes him, though, and that's the problem. She learned a long time ago that jumping to conclusions when someone you like and trust seems to be acting against the best interests of those around them is a bad idea. But a bloody stiletto is kind of hard to ignore.

"You got bored of Chicago a little faster than I thought you would," she says. Murphy clears her throat. "Unless, of course, you've been playing pin-the-hilt-on-the-douchebag under the radar."

[painhumbles]

"Not my choice, Murph," Gabriel says, taking a step forward. He stops, looks down at the knife, inhales, and then promptly flings it into the alley. Yeah, he doesn't really want to look at it anymore.

That done, he resumes walking towards her like that never happened. "Got called back. Apocalypse, yanno? Things got a little heated." As evidenced by all the blood. There's a little trail of it in the snow as he walks. "What? Didja miss me?"

That's the one good thing about being dropped back in Chicago. Easier to pretend what's going on back at the house isn't tearing him apart.