Memos from the Messenger: Chapter 2
Yes, yes, so the previous chapter was posted in DECEMBER 2009. I had exams and this chapter was hard! :P I've been poking at it on and off since then.
(Disclaimers: The Silver City is my take on the one introduced by Gaiman in his Sandman series and short story Murder Mysteries. Gabriel, whom I claimed for this fanfic100 challenge, is mentioned by name in Good Omens, where it’s implied that he is Aziraphale’s supervisor, but other than that I am taking free rein with the appearances and personalities of him and the other archangels. Aziraphael and Gadre’el are my take on what Aziraphale and Crowley were like in Heaven before the Fall; they are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.
Thanks to my dear beta Jen/steadfast for helping with ideas, editing and the idea for the Michael-Gabriel dynamic. (Michael is inspired by Jen’s version and she has no objection to my borrowing him.)
Additional Note: Uriel is Presider over Thunder and Terror while Gabriel is Prince of Ice and Thunder; here, I explore my idea of the story behind this.
Chapter 2: Prompt 021 - Friends.
Gabriel laughed at the feeling of the wind ruffling his feathers, looping in the air and luxuriating in the pure joy of flight, of the feel of wind against hair and skin and feathers, the sensation of weightlessness and utter freedom. Hovering in the air, he gazed down at the City.
The mother-of-pearl gates and silvery-white minarets gleamed in the soft golden light of Heaven. A laughing flock of angels flew over a fountain, swooping down and splashing each other with the sparkling spray; some distance away, the flaming swords and bright armour of some of the Host could just be seen. And right in the centre of the City was the Palace housing the tall tower where the Lord’s throne room was. Crystalline windows studded with gems lined the chamber at the top, and the external tower walls bore a raised pattern of graceful flowering vines; if one looked closely, one could see that the ‘flowers’ were formed of elegant crescent and star shapes. It was the tallest, most beautiful tower in the Silver City, visible from anywhere within it.
“It is so fair,” he said wonderingly; though he had known nothing else since his own creation, the beauty of Heaven could still fill him with awe. He could feel the divine Presence within him, warm and soothing, suffusing his entire being with a sense of love and safety.
“There could be nothing fairer,” Lucifer agreed, smiling. “But we should descend. The host is assembling and besides, there is a limit to how high we can fly.” He turned, looking up at the almost tangible darkness at the outskirts of the City. ‘Darkness’ was perhaps putting it mildly; it was complete blackness with the barest suggestion of swirling layers of depth, as though you could be sucked into it. This close to it, there was a slight chill in the air, and a faint susurrus hovering at the edge of hearing.
“What is it?” Gabriel asked curiously, following his gaze. “I know we can’t go there, but why? What makes it so dangerous?”
Lucifer shrugged. “I know only that it is called the Void, and that any angel who flies in it is doomed. Father told me that we have not the strength to endure it, and hence it is forbidden.”
“Ah.” Gabriel studied the darkness for a moment longer, before shivering. He could not explain why, but he felt that he could not bear to be even this near it for any longer, as though it did indeed forebode doom. “Then let’s descend.”
The two Archangels flew down towards the training field, laughing again as they gracefully looped and dodged each other in mid-air before finally alighting in front of the assembling Seraphim and Cherubim. Michael stood before them, directing them into formation. He gave way to Lucifer, but not without a teasing swing of his sword that the leader of the Host parried almost effortlessly, the bright flames of his sword reflected in his intense golden eyes. Gabriel took his place at the head of his division, drawing his own sword and setting it aflame with the slightest effort of will.
Almost as one being, the Host rose into the air, brightly flaming swords held aloft, moving fluidly in response to Lucifer’s commands. Gabriel glanced around; almost every angel adored Lucifer, watched him with awestruck eyes, outdid himself for a rare word of praise. Oh, they loved Michael too, but it was easy to see how highly they regarded Lucifer despite his aloofness. Gabriel knew that most of the Host would follow Lucifer anywhere.
Would I?
~*~
Gabriel alighted in the entrance to the hospital wing, folding his wings and knocking on the door.
“Come in, Gabriel,” Raphael called, and the Messenger pushed open the door. He paused at the sight of a blond Cherub from his division seated on one of the beds, before approaching him.
“Aziraphael? How did this happen?” He gestured to the now-fading cuts along the young Cherub’s arm, his expression concerned.
Aziraphael blinked; it was one thing having the Archangel of Healing fussing over you when you were injured, but he had not expected his superior to worry about him. Raphael took over.
“Perhaps you can teach him to exercise caution when investigating the work of the designers.” He shook his head, running a finger along one last cut on the Cherub’s arm, which healed as Gabriel watched.
“What were you doing in the Hall of Being, Aziraphael? Your function does not call for it, and you know how the Virtues can be.” Admittedly, Gabriel’s function did not involve actually handling the inventions in the Hall of Being either, but he enjoyed it.
Aziraphael flushed and looked down. “Gadre’el is a friend of mine, sir. He works on Plants, and he wanted to show me one of the new ones. I was looking around while he went to get it; I accidentally brushed by a plant and it attacked me!”
“It was something called a Venus fly trap,” the dark-haired Virtue leaning against the wall added, looking amused. “I didn’t design it, but I was helping Beliel test it. Obviously it needs refining; it seems rather vicious.” He nodded to Gabriel, appearing unfazed by the difference in rank. “I apologise for injuring your warrior, sir.”
“Well, it sounds as though it was hardly your fault,” Gabriel replied, smiling. He was a little surprised by the other angel’s appearance; it was the first time he’d seen any other angel besides Lucifer and Uriel with golden eyes, though this angel’s eyes were more amber, like the sap of a tree that he’d seen a sample of. “I didn’t know Plants were dangerous, though, so please inform Phanuel that I’d like an updated report soon.”
“Some of them are,” Gadre’el grinned. “But not very, and we can control them. Aziraphael was just unlucky and got one of the worst ones.” Now that his friend was no longer bleeding, he looked as though he was holding back laughter.
“Yes, very funny,” Aziraphael muttered, standing and rolling down the sleeve of his robe. “I apologise, sir. I assure you, there is no lasting harm and my fighting will not be affected, the Healer already checked for infections.”
Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. “Forget the ‘sir’ when not on the field, Aziraphael, and this was hardly your fault; you need not apologise. Watch out for the plants on your way back. Do you think we should incorporate them into training?” He fought not to laugh.
Aziraphael mumbled something before thanking Raphael and crossing to the huge window with Gadre’el, who gave them a jaunty wave before spreading his wings and stepping out after the Cherub. Gabriel watched them go, amused. “Surely you have assistants who could take care of a few plant cuts. At this rate the other healers will become lazy.”
Raphael shrugged. “I prefer not to delegate unless I absolutely have to.”
Gabriel brandished a piece of paper at him. “Yet you delegate your reports? Adding the scribble that passes for your sigil at the end fools no-one; the actual legibility of the rest of the report is a bit of a giveaway.”
The Healer smiled a little sheepishly; Gabriel rarely missed an opportunity to comment on the illegibility of his handwriting. “I prefer not to delegate anything but paperwork unless I absolutely have to, then, but assistants are there to do your dirty work, after all. You’re worse than the Metatron, Gabriel.”
“There’s no call for that sort of language.” Despite - or perhaps due to - their similar tasks, Gabriel and the Metatron had never really taken to each other. In fact, none of the Archangels really liked the Metatron, and he in turn generally ignored them unless otherwise necessary.
“My apologies.” He grinned at the taller angel, fondly. “But really, you shouldn’t stress yourself so. You train with the Host, go through most of the paperwork, hunt down those who dare submit substandard reports, convey messages between the Archangels and the highest angels of other ranks, and personally inspect most of the ongoing and completed projects in the Hall of Being. If you don’t slow down a little, I will force you to.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with my current pace of work? I get as much done as possible.”
“Well, I had a poor young Virtue in who poured a lot of himself into his work, spending every moment in the Hall of Being poring over his projects and trying to improve them. Dedication is all well and good, but he rarely took time off for anything else and started developing headaches. When others tried to engage him in leisure pursuits, he was restless and kept thinking of his work. I had to make him unconscious so that he would get some rest.”
Gabriel turned back to the beds in the infirmary; there was an angel asleep in the furthest one, barely visible under his blanket, and the Archangel’s mouth twisted in pity. “That sounds awful.”
Raphael nodded. “You can see why I worry. I know you have a lot of duties, but I know He would ensure that you have time to yourself, away from those.”
Gabriel smiled. “You needn’t worry. I do have time off, and being in the Hall of Being is relaxing for me; the projects are fascinating to observe. And you know I enjoy being in the library, and flying with Lucifer. Besides, you’re one to talk; I know you have other healers to aid you, but it’s always you I see attending to people.”
The Healer shrugged again. “Well, it’s hardly as though we have many injured angels to worry about, most of the time. I would be horribly bored, though that does not mean I want half of you in with injuries, of course. Oh, by the way, I meant to ask you earlier; Gadre’el was telling me a little about Plants before you arrived, and they do sound interesting. Apparently some of them have properties that would be useful in here. I’ll be going to have a look at them afterwards. Would you happen to have the reports on them? I’d like to try keeping a few of the tamer prototypes.”
Laughing, the Messenger nodded. “I’ll make copies - “ he faltered at the pointed look on Raphael’s face, “- have one of the angels in charge of archiving make copies for you.”
“Good boy,” Raphael gave him an approving nod before embracing him lightly. “And thank you. Run along, now.”
~*~
Raphael did have a point; between the military training and paperwork, Gabriel had little free time, and what little he had he usually spent with Lucifer, or in the Hall of Being, or in the wing of the Palace that he and Raphael had turned into a library. Today, however, he didn’t feel like reading. He knocked on the large door with the doorknob in the middle.*
“Uriel? May I come in?”
After a moment, the door swung open by itself and Gabriel heard the familiar, rather distracted-sounding voice.
“Come in, Gabriel.”
Uriel was standing with his back to the door, bent over a table. He turned. “Come and look at this. I was in the Hall of Being, and they are working on Weather now. I have something I want to add.”
Gabriel crossed to the marble table. “More facial ink, perhaps?” He rubbed at the ink stain on Uriel’s prominent cheekbone, but did so lightly; Uriel’s delicate features and build simply evoked gentleness, despite the fact that he was deadly on the field when he put his mind to it. The other angel batted his hand away, rubbing at the ink himself and smudging it even more.
“Look at this.”
There was some sort of fully enclosed tank on the table, though it was not made of glass, or indeed of any physical or tangible material; there was nothing but Uriel’s will enclosing the contents. Inside, near the top, miniature dark grey clouds swirled angrily.
“Rain,” Gabriel nodded. “Phanuel sent the report in yesterday. He added that it was still being modified, since there’s still some dispute over the composition of the atmosphere itself.”
Uriel bent closer, tucking some errant strands of golden hair behind his ear. “Baraqyel added this. It’s called Lightning.”
Gabriel’s eyes widened as a brilliant streak of light sliced through the clouds, before disappearing almost instantly. He blinked a few times, willing away the afterimage.
“And I added this.” Uriel’s normally half-lidded golden eyes were wide open; Gabriel fancied he could almost see the flames of His Presence leaping in their depths. The blond Seraph frowned slightly, focusing on the clouds. Gabriel had been expecting the flash this time, but he jumped back slightly, startled, at the sudden angry crack of sound. There were a few smaller rumbles as it died down.
Uriel was laughing softly. “You should have seen your face.”
Gabriel grinned. “Well, you might have warned me. What was that?”
His companion’s near-constant smile** widened. “I call it Thunder. It’s going to follow Lightning.”
“What causes it?”
“I don’t know. I just thought it would be nice.”
Gabriel opened his mouth, then shut it again. There would be no point in asking Uriel for a report, he knew; he would most likely forget, or submit new hymns in His praise instead. Evidently Gabriel would have to handle the paperwork behind this project.
He leant closer to the tank, mentally going over the reports he’d received on Weather and the effects of Temperature and other factors and possible results, and pressed a finger against it; he could feel and sense the tingle of Uriel’s power beneath his fingertip. Tiny drops of rain were falling from the clouds, disappearing once they touched the bottom. The water was cool against his skin. “If it was very cold,” Gabriel mused, “the precipitation might freeze. It would be ice falling.” He frowned, and after a moment the falling raindrops froze in mid-air, becoming tiny bits of ice falling towards the bottom. “I’ll look into the effects of different types of weather on precipitation, run some tests on those and creating sound, and write out a r - “ He paused; Uriel was staring at the icy rain and clearly not paying attention to his words.
“I like it,” Uriel murmured approvingly. “What will you call it?”
Gabriel shrugged. “We’ll see. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and figure out the rationale behind your ideas and finish up your paperwork.”
Uriel grinned at him. “You and your paperwork.”
“Records are important,” Gabriel insisted, and Uriel only laughed.
~*~
*A short while after they’d entered their rooms for the first time, Uriel’s door had simply changed. The others weren’t quite sure why and didn’t ask; out of curiosity Michael had tried changing his own door, but to no avail.
** Uriel almost always looked as though he was enjoying a private joke, with his lips quirked up slightly and his eyes focusing on a point above your shoulder. Most angels found it unnerving; the other four Archangels were used to it.
~*~
In the Palace where the Archangels and the Metatron dwelt, the most striking feature was the towering hall in the very centre, housing the throne of God Himself. Large, arched, crystalline windows studded with translucent gems lined the heptagonal chamber, and the intricate geometrical pattern on the quartz floor would have made a lesser angel dizzy, if anyone but the Archangels and the Metatron were allowed to enter and stand in His Presence.
There was also an entire wing that had become a library, and of course the quarters of each of the Archangels and the Metatron; they did not want for living space. There was also a large, high-ceilinged hall that they called the training chamber, with different weapons and equipment lining the walls. While the Host trained in the nearby field and practised in their own rooms, this room was for the Archangels to practise in privately.
Gabriel stood alone in the centre of the room, drawing his sword. The sapphire set in its silver pommel glinted in the soft light that permeated the room despite having no visible source. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply; he didn’t need to, but he found the action calming.
The Archangel began to go through his standard warm-up exercises, moving through positions gracefully and fluidly, sharp blade whipping through the air. His eyes were still closed and there was a small smile on his lips; he may have been the Messenger, but he was also a warrior, one of the generals of the Host, and this came naturally to him. The sword felt like an extension of his arm and his will, and as he went through the familiar motions he concentrated on the warmth of the divine Presence within him. For a few moments, the constant mental checklist of tasks he had to complete next slipped his mind as he immersed himself in the Presence and in the movements of his sword.
Michael paused in the doorway, leaned against it, and simply watched for a few moments. The usual faint glow surrounding all angels was a little brighter than usual around Gabriel at that moment, and his sword was glowing as though about to burst into holy fire. Gabriel paused, lowering his sword, and his aura returned to its normal level. His normally pale cheeks were lightly flushed.
“Hello, Michael,” he murmured as he opened his eyes and turned around. The bright glow of the Presence within Michael was hard to mistake, after all, especially for the Messenger. He smiled at the Warrior. “Did you need something?”
Michael grinned back. “Not really. I was just bored. Where’s Lucifer?” It was so rare to see Gabriel without Lucifer, especially if one or both was off duty. The two of them were nearly always together, flying over the City, investigating the newest inventions in the Hall of Being, or simply talking in the library or in either of their quarters.
“Father wished to discuss something with him.” Gabriel sheathed his sword before flexing his fingers and eyeing the bows on the wall.
“Aw. I’m bored.”
“I would never have guessed,” the Messenger responded drily. “Your tendency to lounge against doorways and state the obvious was not enough of a clue. Do you always feel the need to proclaim everything you think, or - wait, I suppose you thinking is enough cause for celebration.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips; he enjoyed his banter with Michael, and besides, it was hardly his fault if the Warrior handed him a perfect opportunity like that.
“Now you’re just being mean.” Michael was still grinning, though.
“But you’re no longer bored, are you?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
“… No. Maybe a little. Hey, would you practise with me?” Michael crossed to his side, drawing his own sword. “Raphael’s annoyed with me and Uriel’s off with the choir.”
“I’m not going to ask what you did to annoy Raphael this time. And I’m just curious, Michael - do you ever seek to assuage your boredom in the library? ”
“I’m not going to answer that.”
Gabriel couldn’t help his small, fond smile this time. “I wonder why.” He turned to face Michael, bowing slightly before assuming a defensive stance. Michael bowed back, dropping easily into an offensive stance.* They circled for a moment before Michael made his move. Gabriel parried him swiftly, leaping back and to the side as Michael’s blade slashed at where he had just stood. He slashed at Michael’s legs, but Michael had expected that and jumped, swiftly spreading his wings to maintain balance. He lunged forward, hoping to tackle Gabriel, but the Messenger moved back out of reach; Michael landed in a crouch, rolling and kicking Gabriel’s legs out from under him. Keeping a firm grip on his sword, Gabriel blocked Michael’s next move from the floor, getting back to his feet quickly. They continued in this vein for a few moments, attacking and feinting and ducking gracefully, almost like an intricate dance.
Gabriel shifted very slightly to the right; Michael, however, noted the shifting of his weight and was ready, easily blocking the attack from the left, and Gabriel stumbled. With a quick twist of his sword Michael sent Gabriel's blade flying across the room, where it landed on the floor with a loud clang, hooked his foot behind Gabriel’s knee to bring him down, and had the tip of his sword resting lightly against Gabriel’s sternum. They remained like that for a moment, letting their adrenaline fade and their breathing quieten.
“You’re still not very good at feinting, Gabe,” Michael finally said, sheathing his sword and offering Gabriel a hand. He pulled the Messenger to his feet. “I mean, you’re really quick on your feet and it’s hard to find an opening, which is good, but your body language makes your next move obvious at times, so even if you’re feinting right I can tell you’re going to move left. It seems kind of common in the Host, really. We should work on it.”
Gabriel nodded. “It will probably be worse when in the air, too. Thank you. I’ll practise. And for the hundredth time, it’s Gabriel.”
“Gaaabriiieeel,” Michael drew out the name teasingly. “There. Happy?”
Gabriel rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. He sheathed his sword and smoothed the light robe he was wearing. “I’m afraid I do have to leave, though. I have to meet Phanuel and some of the other Virtues to go over some reports. If you’re still bored, would you like to accompany me?”
Michael made a face. “I would be very, very bored if I did, so that seems kind of… counterproductive.” He had moved over to the wall and was adjusting the targets set up there, before going to a mounted rack and picking up some throwing daggers. “You have fun, though.”
“It’s not exactly fun; the team heads never collaborate properly and making head or tail of their reports is rather hard at times, when they remember to submit them at all, and they’re continually ending up in the hospital wing after testing odd new things, and nothing is filed properly -”
Michael cut him off. “And aside from the fact that for some weird reason you enjoy filing things, you take advantage of the fact that you’re in the Hall of Being and run around poking your nose into the new inventions and asking questions and dragging Lucifer to see the prototypes too. I’ve seen your face when you’re in there, Gabriel.” He smiled. “You love it.”
Gabriel smiled back. “Well, it is interesting. I wish we knew a little more about what it was for, but most of the prototypes are fascinating things. And I had better go. Try not to hurt yourself, playing with those daggers.”
Michael pulled the most insulted expression he was capable of; Gabriel laughed and left the chamber.
~*~
*Gabriel didn’t make jokes about how easily being offensive came to Michael. Really.
~*~
Note left on Lucifer’s desk:
Dear Lucifer,
I’m afraid I can’t join you in the library after meeting with the Metatron and Phanuel; I’ll be in one of the testing chambers in the Hall of Being, working on something Uriel came up with. If you wish to join me, be prepared for some very loud noises and cool temperatures.
Gabriel.
~*~
Reviews would be lovely. <3
(Disclaimers: The Silver City is my take on the one introduced by Gaiman in his Sandman series and short story Murder Mysteries. Gabriel, whom I claimed for this fanfic100 challenge, is mentioned by name in Good Omens, where it’s implied that he is Aziraphale’s supervisor, but other than that I am taking free rein with the appearances and personalities of him and the other archangels. Aziraphael and Gadre’el are my take on what Aziraphale and Crowley were like in Heaven before the Fall; they are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.
Thanks to my dear beta Jen/steadfast for helping with ideas, editing and the idea for the Michael-Gabriel dynamic. (Michael is inspired by Jen’s version and she has no objection to my borrowing him.)
Additional Note: Uriel is Presider over Thunder and Terror while Gabriel is Prince of Ice and Thunder; here, I explore my idea of the story behind this.
Chapter 2: Prompt 021 - Friends.
Gabriel laughed at the feeling of the wind ruffling his feathers, looping in the air and luxuriating in the pure joy of flight, of the feel of wind against hair and skin and feathers, the sensation of weightlessness and utter freedom. Hovering in the air, he gazed down at the City.
The mother-of-pearl gates and silvery-white minarets gleamed in the soft golden light of Heaven. A laughing flock of angels flew over a fountain, swooping down and splashing each other with the sparkling spray; some distance away, the flaming swords and bright armour of some of the Host could just be seen. And right in the centre of the City was the Palace housing the tall tower where the Lord’s throne room was. Crystalline windows studded with gems lined the chamber at the top, and the external tower walls bore a raised pattern of graceful flowering vines; if one looked closely, one could see that the ‘flowers’ were formed of elegant crescent and star shapes. It was the tallest, most beautiful tower in the Silver City, visible from anywhere within it.
“It is so fair,” he said wonderingly; though he had known nothing else since his own creation, the beauty of Heaven could still fill him with awe. He could feel the divine Presence within him, warm and soothing, suffusing his entire being with a sense of love and safety.
“There could be nothing fairer,” Lucifer agreed, smiling. “But we should descend. The host is assembling and besides, there is a limit to how high we can fly.” He turned, looking up at the almost tangible darkness at the outskirts of the City. ‘Darkness’ was perhaps putting it mildly; it was complete blackness with the barest suggestion of swirling layers of depth, as though you could be sucked into it. This close to it, there was a slight chill in the air, and a faint susurrus hovering at the edge of hearing.
“What is it?” Gabriel asked curiously, following his gaze. “I know we can’t go there, but why? What makes it so dangerous?”
Lucifer shrugged. “I know only that it is called the Void, and that any angel who flies in it is doomed. Father told me that we have not the strength to endure it, and hence it is forbidden.”
“Ah.” Gabriel studied the darkness for a moment longer, before shivering. He could not explain why, but he felt that he could not bear to be even this near it for any longer, as though it did indeed forebode doom. “Then let’s descend.”
The two Archangels flew down towards the training field, laughing again as they gracefully looped and dodged each other in mid-air before finally alighting in front of the assembling Seraphim and Cherubim. Michael stood before them, directing them into formation. He gave way to Lucifer, but not without a teasing swing of his sword that the leader of the Host parried almost effortlessly, the bright flames of his sword reflected in his intense golden eyes. Gabriel took his place at the head of his division, drawing his own sword and setting it aflame with the slightest effort of will.
Almost as one being, the Host rose into the air, brightly flaming swords held aloft, moving fluidly in response to Lucifer’s commands. Gabriel glanced around; almost every angel adored Lucifer, watched him with awestruck eyes, outdid himself for a rare word of praise. Oh, they loved Michael too, but it was easy to see how highly they regarded Lucifer despite his aloofness. Gabriel knew that most of the Host would follow Lucifer anywhere.
Would I?
~*~
Gabriel alighted in the entrance to the hospital wing, folding his wings and knocking on the door.
“Come in, Gabriel,” Raphael called, and the Messenger pushed open the door. He paused at the sight of a blond Cherub from his division seated on one of the beds, before approaching him.
“Aziraphael? How did this happen?” He gestured to the now-fading cuts along the young Cherub’s arm, his expression concerned.
Aziraphael blinked; it was one thing having the Archangel of Healing fussing over you when you were injured, but he had not expected his superior to worry about him. Raphael took over.
“Perhaps you can teach him to exercise caution when investigating the work of the designers.” He shook his head, running a finger along one last cut on the Cherub’s arm, which healed as Gabriel watched.
“What were you doing in the Hall of Being, Aziraphael? Your function does not call for it, and you know how the Virtues can be.” Admittedly, Gabriel’s function did not involve actually handling the inventions in the Hall of Being either, but he enjoyed it.
Aziraphael flushed and looked down. “Gadre’el is a friend of mine, sir. He works on Plants, and he wanted to show me one of the new ones. I was looking around while he went to get it; I accidentally brushed by a plant and it attacked me!”
“It was something called a Venus fly trap,” the dark-haired Virtue leaning against the wall added, looking amused. “I didn’t design it, but I was helping Beliel test it. Obviously it needs refining; it seems rather vicious.” He nodded to Gabriel, appearing unfazed by the difference in rank. “I apologise for injuring your warrior, sir.”
“Well, it sounds as though it was hardly your fault,” Gabriel replied, smiling. He was a little surprised by the other angel’s appearance; it was the first time he’d seen any other angel besides Lucifer and Uriel with golden eyes, though this angel’s eyes were more amber, like the sap of a tree that he’d seen a sample of. “I didn’t know Plants were dangerous, though, so please inform Phanuel that I’d like an updated report soon.”
“Some of them are,” Gadre’el grinned. “But not very, and we can control them. Aziraphael was just unlucky and got one of the worst ones.” Now that his friend was no longer bleeding, he looked as though he was holding back laughter.
“Yes, very funny,” Aziraphael muttered, standing and rolling down the sleeve of his robe. “I apologise, sir. I assure you, there is no lasting harm and my fighting will not be affected, the Healer already checked for infections.”
Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. “Forget the ‘sir’ when not on the field, Aziraphael, and this was hardly your fault; you need not apologise. Watch out for the plants on your way back. Do you think we should incorporate them into training?” He fought not to laugh.
Aziraphael mumbled something before thanking Raphael and crossing to the huge window with Gadre’el, who gave them a jaunty wave before spreading his wings and stepping out after the Cherub. Gabriel watched them go, amused. “Surely you have assistants who could take care of a few plant cuts. At this rate the other healers will become lazy.”
Raphael shrugged. “I prefer not to delegate unless I absolutely have to.”
Gabriel brandished a piece of paper at him. “Yet you delegate your reports? Adding the scribble that passes for your sigil at the end fools no-one; the actual legibility of the rest of the report is a bit of a giveaway.”
The Healer smiled a little sheepishly; Gabriel rarely missed an opportunity to comment on the illegibility of his handwriting. “I prefer not to delegate anything but paperwork unless I absolutely have to, then, but assistants are there to do your dirty work, after all. You’re worse than the Metatron, Gabriel.”
“There’s no call for that sort of language.” Despite - or perhaps due to - their similar tasks, Gabriel and the Metatron had never really taken to each other. In fact, none of the Archangels really liked the Metatron, and he in turn generally ignored them unless otherwise necessary.
“My apologies.” He grinned at the taller angel, fondly. “But really, you shouldn’t stress yourself so. You train with the Host, go through most of the paperwork, hunt down those who dare submit substandard reports, convey messages between the Archangels and the highest angels of other ranks, and personally inspect most of the ongoing and completed projects in the Hall of Being. If you don’t slow down a little, I will force you to.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with my current pace of work? I get as much done as possible.”
“Well, I had a poor young Virtue in who poured a lot of himself into his work, spending every moment in the Hall of Being poring over his projects and trying to improve them. Dedication is all well and good, but he rarely took time off for anything else and started developing headaches. When others tried to engage him in leisure pursuits, he was restless and kept thinking of his work. I had to make him unconscious so that he would get some rest.”
Gabriel turned back to the beds in the infirmary; there was an angel asleep in the furthest one, barely visible under his blanket, and the Archangel’s mouth twisted in pity. “That sounds awful.”
Raphael nodded. “You can see why I worry. I know you have a lot of duties, but I know He would ensure that you have time to yourself, away from those.”
Gabriel smiled. “You needn’t worry. I do have time off, and being in the Hall of Being is relaxing for me; the projects are fascinating to observe. And you know I enjoy being in the library, and flying with Lucifer. Besides, you’re one to talk; I know you have other healers to aid you, but it’s always you I see attending to people.”
The Healer shrugged again. “Well, it’s hardly as though we have many injured angels to worry about, most of the time. I would be horribly bored, though that does not mean I want half of you in with injuries, of course. Oh, by the way, I meant to ask you earlier; Gadre’el was telling me a little about Plants before you arrived, and they do sound interesting. Apparently some of them have properties that would be useful in here. I’ll be going to have a look at them afterwards. Would you happen to have the reports on them? I’d like to try keeping a few of the tamer prototypes.”
Laughing, the Messenger nodded. “I’ll make copies - “ he faltered at the pointed look on Raphael’s face, “- have one of the angels in charge of archiving make copies for you.”
“Good boy,” Raphael gave him an approving nod before embracing him lightly. “And thank you. Run along, now.”
~*~
Raphael did have a point; between the military training and paperwork, Gabriel had little free time, and what little he had he usually spent with Lucifer, or in the Hall of Being, or in the wing of the Palace that he and Raphael had turned into a library. Today, however, he didn’t feel like reading. He knocked on the large door with the doorknob in the middle.*
“Uriel? May I come in?”
After a moment, the door swung open by itself and Gabriel heard the familiar, rather distracted-sounding voice.
“Come in, Gabriel.”
Uriel was standing with his back to the door, bent over a table. He turned. “Come and look at this. I was in the Hall of Being, and they are working on Weather now. I have something I want to add.”
Gabriel crossed to the marble table. “More facial ink, perhaps?” He rubbed at the ink stain on Uriel’s prominent cheekbone, but did so lightly; Uriel’s delicate features and build simply evoked gentleness, despite the fact that he was deadly on the field when he put his mind to it. The other angel batted his hand away, rubbing at the ink himself and smudging it even more.
“Look at this.”
There was some sort of fully enclosed tank on the table, though it was not made of glass, or indeed of any physical or tangible material; there was nothing but Uriel’s will enclosing the contents. Inside, near the top, miniature dark grey clouds swirled angrily.
“Rain,” Gabriel nodded. “Phanuel sent the report in yesterday. He added that it was still being modified, since there’s still some dispute over the composition of the atmosphere itself.”
Uriel bent closer, tucking some errant strands of golden hair behind his ear. “Baraqyel added this. It’s called Lightning.”
Gabriel’s eyes widened as a brilliant streak of light sliced through the clouds, before disappearing almost instantly. He blinked a few times, willing away the afterimage.
“And I added this.” Uriel’s normally half-lidded golden eyes were wide open; Gabriel fancied he could almost see the flames of His Presence leaping in their depths. The blond Seraph frowned slightly, focusing on the clouds. Gabriel had been expecting the flash this time, but he jumped back slightly, startled, at the sudden angry crack of sound. There were a few smaller rumbles as it died down.
Uriel was laughing softly. “You should have seen your face.”
Gabriel grinned. “Well, you might have warned me. What was that?”
His companion’s near-constant smile** widened. “I call it Thunder. It’s going to follow Lightning.”
“What causes it?”
“I don’t know. I just thought it would be nice.”
Gabriel opened his mouth, then shut it again. There would be no point in asking Uriel for a report, he knew; he would most likely forget, or submit new hymns in His praise instead. Evidently Gabriel would have to handle the paperwork behind this project.
He leant closer to the tank, mentally going over the reports he’d received on Weather and the effects of Temperature and other factors and possible results, and pressed a finger against it; he could feel and sense the tingle of Uriel’s power beneath his fingertip. Tiny drops of rain were falling from the clouds, disappearing once they touched the bottom. The water was cool against his skin. “If it was very cold,” Gabriel mused, “the precipitation might freeze. It would be ice falling.” He frowned, and after a moment the falling raindrops froze in mid-air, becoming tiny bits of ice falling towards the bottom. “I’ll look into the effects of different types of weather on precipitation, run some tests on those and creating sound, and write out a r - “ He paused; Uriel was staring at the icy rain and clearly not paying attention to his words.
“I like it,” Uriel murmured approvingly. “What will you call it?”
Gabriel shrugged. “We’ll see. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and figure out the rationale behind your ideas and finish up your paperwork.”
Uriel grinned at him. “You and your paperwork.”
“Records are important,” Gabriel insisted, and Uriel only laughed.
~*~
*A short while after they’d entered their rooms for the first time, Uriel’s door had simply changed. The others weren’t quite sure why and didn’t ask; out of curiosity Michael had tried changing his own door, but to no avail.
** Uriel almost always looked as though he was enjoying a private joke, with his lips quirked up slightly and his eyes focusing on a point above your shoulder. Most angels found it unnerving; the other four Archangels were used to it.
~*~
In the Palace where the Archangels and the Metatron dwelt, the most striking feature was the towering hall in the very centre, housing the throne of God Himself. Large, arched, crystalline windows studded with translucent gems lined the heptagonal chamber, and the intricate geometrical pattern on the quartz floor would have made a lesser angel dizzy, if anyone but the Archangels and the Metatron were allowed to enter and stand in His Presence.
There was also an entire wing that had become a library, and of course the quarters of each of the Archangels and the Metatron; they did not want for living space. There was also a large, high-ceilinged hall that they called the training chamber, with different weapons and equipment lining the walls. While the Host trained in the nearby field and practised in their own rooms, this room was for the Archangels to practise in privately.
Gabriel stood alone in the centre of the room, drawing his sword. The sapphire set in its silver pommel glinted in the soft light that permeated the room despite having no visible source. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply; he didn’t need to, but he found the action calming.
The Archangel began to go through his standard warm-up exercises, moving through positions gracefully and fluidly, sharp blade whipping through the air. His eyes were still closed and there was a small smile on his lips; he may have been the Messenger, but he was also a warrior, one of the generals of the Host, and this came naturally to him. The sword felt like an extension of his arm and his will, and as he went through the familiar motions he concentrated on the warmth of the divine Presence within him. For a few moments, the constant mental checklist of tasks he had to complete next slipped his mind as he immersed himself in the Presence and in the movements of his sword.
Michael paused in the doorway, leaned against it, and simply watched for a few moments. The usual faint glow surrounding all angels was a little brighter than usual around Gabriel at that moment, and his sword was glowing as though about to burst into holy fire. Gabriel paused, lowering his sword, and his aura returned to its normal level. His normally pale cheeks were lightly flushed.
“Hello, Michael,” he murmured as he opened his eyes and turned around. The bright glow of the Presence within Michael was hard to mistake, after all, especially for the Messenger. He smiled at the Warrior. “Did you need something?”
Michael grinned back. “Not really. I was just bored. Where’s Lucifer?” It was so rare to see Gabriel without Lucifer, especially if one or both was off duty. The two of them were nearly always together, flying over the City, investigating the newest inventions in the Hall of Being, or simply talking in the library or in either of their quarters.
“Father wished to discuss something with him.” Gabriel sheathed his sword before flexing his fingers and eyeing the bows on the wall.
“Aw. I’m bored.”
“I would never have guessed,” the Messenger responded drily. “Your tendency to lounge against doorways and state the obvious was not enough of a clue. Do you always feel the need to proclaim everything you think, or - wait, I suppose you thinking is enough cause for celebration.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips; he enjoyed his banter with Michael, and besides, it was hardly his fault if the Warrior handed him a perfect opportunity like that.
“Now you’re just being mean.” Michael was still grinning, though.
“But you’re no longer bored, are you?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
“… No. Maybe a little. Hey, would you practise with me?” Michael crossed to his side, drawing his own sword. “Raphael’s annoyed with me and Uriel’s off with the choir.”
“I’m not going to ask what you did to annoy Raphael this time. And I’m just curious, Michael - do you ever seek to assuage your boredom in the library? ”
“I’m not going to answer that.”
Gabriel couldn’t help his small, fond smile this time. “I wonder why.” He turned to face Michael, bowing slightly before assuming a defensive stance. Michael bowed back, dropping easily into an offensive stance.* They circled for a moment before Michael made his move. Gabriel parried him swiftly, leaping back and to the side as Michael’s blade slashed at where he had just stood. He slashed at Michael’s legs, but Michael had expected that and jumped, swiftly spreading his wings to maintain balance. He lunged forward, hoping to tackle Gabriel, but the Messenger moved back out of reach; Michael landed in a crouch, rolling and kicking Gabriel’s legs out from under him. Keeping a firm grip on his sword, Gabriel blocked Michael’s next move from the floor, getting back to his feet quickly. They continued in this vein for a few moments, attacking and feinting and ducking gracefully, almost like an intricate dance.
Gabriel shifted very slightly to the right; Michael, however, noted the shifting of his weight and was ready, easily blocking the attack from the left, and Gabriel stumbled. With a quick twist of his sword Michael sent Gabriel's blade flying across the room, where it landed on the floor with a loud clang, hooked his foot behind Gabriel’s knee to bring him down, and had the tip of his sword resting lightly against Gabriel’s sternum. They remained like that for a moment, letting their adrenaline fade and their breathing quieten.
“You’re still not very good at feinting, Gabe,” Michael finally said, sheathing his sword and offering Gabriel a hand. He pulled the Messenger to his feet. “I mean, you’re really quick on your feet and it’s hard to find an opening, which is good, but your body language makes your next move obvious at times, so even if you’re feinting right I can tell you’re going to move left. It seems kind of common in the Host, really. We should work on it.”
Gabriel nodded. “It will probably be worse when in the air, too. Thank you. I’ll practise. And for the hundredth time, it’s Gabriel.”
“Gaaabriiieeel,” Michael drew out the name teasingly. “There. Happy?”
Gabriel rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. He sheathed his sword and smoothed the light robe he was wearing. “I’m afraid I do have to leave, though. I have to meet Phanuel and some of the other Virtues to go over some reports. If you’re still bored, would you like to accompany me?”
Michael made a face. “I would be very, very bored if I did, so that seems kind of… counterproductive.” He had moved over to the wall and was adjusting the targets set up there, before going to a mounted rack and picking up some throwing daggers. “You have fun, though.”
“It’s not exactly fun; the team heads never collaborate properly and making head or tail of their reports is rather hard at times, when they remember to submit them at all, and they’re continually ending up in the hospital wing after testing odd new things, and nothing is filed properly -”
Michael cut him off. “And aside from the fact that for some weird reason you enjoy filing things, you take advantage of the fact that you’re in the Hall of Being and run around poking your nose into the new inventions and asking questions and dragging Lucifer to see the prototypes too. I’ve seen your face when you’re in there, Gabriel.” He smiled. “You love it.”
Gabriel smiled back. “Well, it is interesting. I wish we knew a little more about what it was for, but most of the prototypes are fascinating things. And I had better go. Try not to hurt yourself, playing with those daggers.”
Michael pulled the most insulted expression he was capable of; Gabriel laughed and left the chamber.
~*~
*Gabriel didn’t make jokes about how easily being offensive came to Michael. Really.
~*~
Note left on Lucifer’s desk:
Dear Lucifer,
I’m afraid I can’t join you in the library after meeting with the Metatron and Phanuel; I’ll be in one of the testing chambers in the Hall of Being, working on something Uriel came up with. If you wish to join me, be prepared for some very loud noises and cool temperatures.
Gabriel.
~*~
Reviews would be lovely. <3