013 (Voice) I wanna hear what you have to say about me...
[The NV comes on to static, like an old radio that isn't quite tuned into the right station. A few crackles, pops, and indistinguishable sounds later, and Gabriel's voice starts speaking... Except residents who have been here for the past year may notice that the messages sound a little familiar, disjointed- it's not Gabriel talking. It's Gabriel
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[He visibly struggles with what to say next, mostly wondering how to say it while sounding both not-creepy and heterosexual.]
For what it's worth, I'm glad you got this... Canadian afterlife. [I'm glad I could see you again. That you're okay, that you have the chance to be okay. That someone else gave you what I didn't- another chance. That you've changed enough that I know that when the Core spits me back into Maryland, you'll still be okay and you always will be.] I kind of think you deserved a real chance.
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[He snorts.] Do most people have to work this hard for a decent afterlife or was I just really special? Don't get me wrong... It hasn't been no pleasure cruise here lately, but... If Jinx can get over this, then so can I.
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[Not that that request will go anywhere. He moves on and just... sighs and shrugs all at once, somehow.]
A job and a girlfriend is better than total oblivion, man. The issues are just... different. You're both going through different things about it. Plus, angels just work differently. Plate tectonics, or... Vulcans. Feeling deeply, changing slowly, and half the time it has nothing to do with what's coming through on the surface.
[Wheelchair Yoda is smarter than he looks.]
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I'm a Jewish mother making sure you get enough servings of Tootsie Rolls while haunting the ICU.
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She's not handling this well... [Because, for some reason, Chuck is the only person he can talk to about his drama. Because fucking Chuck guilts him.]
I don't know what to do. I've hit my quota of bullshitting how everything's gonna be okay.
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Well... she kind of has a bullshit radar. I really can't see how it's gonna be okay for her. Losing a child fucks you up. Forever.
[He would know. Chuck swallows thickly and plows ahead, not thinking about the person in front of Him, lifeless and broken.]
I've seen it, man.
Are you sure you should be slinging crap? Maybe she just wants to have somewhere safe to fall. Just be there. Don't try to, you know, blow sunshine up her- [okay, checking himself here] -anything.
I mean, I kind of suck at this stuff, but usually when someone's in that much pain, they don't want anyone to try to tell them why they shouldn't be.
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...Right. [Yep, that's the opposite of what he's been doing. Good job.] Okay. Fine. I really do blow at this.
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[His expression softens at the rest of it, though.]
Yeah, I know. How dare you not be sensitive and emotionally mature like the rest of your family.
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[He scoffs.] And how dare I actually get this involved with someone who doesn't think biting the heads off peasants is a good way to spend Saturday night and would, in no way, ever be this fragile.
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It's almost human of you. Both of you.
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A few thousand years of doing my own thing, and then a whole year in this damn city, and I'm practically a suburbanite from a Sunday night drama. The Camdens can shove their good Christian values up their collective asses.
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[And then, with mild irritation:]
Bite me.
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