Gabe was rippling with emotions after Jerusha left. The sadness that came with her departure, and that of potentially not seeing her for a very long time. The exhilaration of potential new friends, and experiences beyond the scope of anything he’d ever [i]done[/i]. In truth, Gabe wasn’t sure how long he would stay with the agency, he wasn’t sure how long he’d stay on earth. Would his lord sweep him away once Gabriel had gotten enough information, was it like collecting coins in a Mario game? Was there a set number that led to a “win”? Or would Gabe be left on this tiny, beautiful rock for the rest of human existence? When the last man or woman roamed the earth, tattered and broken, and without a voice to pray to god, would Gabe be standing next to that person, smiling and nodding? When the gapping maws of eternity decided to suck Gabriel back in and swallow him into a new paradise, filled with souls, and he flew with the incandescent wings he dreamed of so often, would he be happy? Each meaningless moment that he spent shepherding the souls in heaven, eternity wrapped around him like the ethereal fur he lost on his decent, would be agonizing. Gabriel would dream of earth in heaven, this he knew. 

Gabe felt a sudden urge to smoke a joint, and it was rather intense as well. The bellowing screams of sadness from the inside were usually quieted with a quick toke. Luckily Gabe knew he would feel this way, and he felt a little discomforted by it. He didn’t lie to Jerusha, he was never meant to stop using drugs—he still drank—but he had lied by omission in a sense. Gabe never mentioned to Dr. Wilde that he still self-medicated when he felt that it was necessary. He had some of the green stuff tucked away in a vacuum sealed container in his backpack—a thought which led the angel to look at his luggage. He carried two suitcases, each with wheels and handles, also a backpack which was leveraged against his leg. There was also a black, matte, pistol case fastened to his backpack by strappings on the pack, there was only one pistol in the case built for two, as the other was holstered on Gabe’s waist. Lastly, there was his sword, which hung across his chest with a strap, the sword was pressed across his back. The thing was a magically, beautiful silver long sword, the tiny designs on it told a story long lost to Gabriel, it reminded him of war, though he could not designate for what, or fought by whom. Eventually, just as Jerusha had said, Cornelius appeared. 

And boy, was she right about him. The [i]anima[/i], as Jerusha described him, clearly had a bit of a chip on his shoulder, a duck-sized chip. Aside from that he was a perfect gentleman, courteous and regal, as any living rubber duck should be. Gabe simply nodded in response to Cornelius, then bid him gratitude for being such a wonderful help. Gabe could see himself getting used to being around this place. There seemed to be an open bar, which Gabe looked away from quickly, resisting the urge to saunter up to it immediately. Among the people in the room were a peculiar couple sucking face, as Gabe would most aptly describe it. No worry, no consideration, and also no intent in their displays. It was ruthless passion which threw them into that pit together, literally devouring each other’s blood. Gabe was not against vampirism, it happened to the best of humans it seemed, but he could not condone public viciousness and gluttony. Gabe was not a direct agent of his lord anymore, but he certainly held within him some important tenants, which he remembered as if in a dream. 

Then suddenly, just as Gabe decided to take a step outside, he was approached. 

“Hello,” Gabe responded, as if for a moment he wasn’t sure where the voice was coming from. “Hi”, he said an instant later, looking directly at the man called Semyon. He was a creepy looking man, to say the least. His skin was without color and his eyes were of a troubling origin. Gabe could tell that the man was undead, and that made Gabe uneasy, perhaps that would be offensive. Gabe snapped himself together in enough time to, perhaps, convincingly display true pleasure, and not a fearful interest. “Gabriel Lykis at your service.” Gabe took the man’s hand, squeezed it tightly, which made Gabe fear that he might take a piece of the man with him when they’re embrace separated. “A pleasure to meet you,” Gabriel smiled as he shook the man’s hand. 

A spark of red appeared in the corner of the angel’s eye and he thought it might have been Jerusha, changing her mind about staying for a little while. Instead, it was another redheaded beauty, this one with not as much sharpness or sophistication as the one he’d just spent several months with. This one was younger, and not at all familiar. She smiled and waved at the fallen angel, all he could do was lift his head in acknowledgment as he was approached once more, this time by a face he could put a name to first. Nestor Grimsley, he recalled. 

Gabe took this man’s hand as well, and he was struck with a sudden chill. One which worked it’s way around his body like an unseen snake, coiling back into his palm. And with that touch came more, a life bygone and still continuing. With that touch came a hint of desperation, a pinch of death, and a handful of unrequited sadness. Gabriel withdrew his hand after a moment of this insane uncomfortableness. 

“Gabriel Lykis, new guy. Thanks for offering, but,” Gabe looked around the room, shuffled his feet, “I really shouldn’t.” He let his hands fall to his sides and patted his clothing down in an attempt to make himself look like he fit in. Now that he thought about it, he was rather underdressed. Then Gabe remembered his anxiety, yes it was still there, and yes it gnawed at him like the voice of his lord once did. “Do either of you know when the bosses are coming down? I was thinking of stepping outside for a moment.”