After three days, he was beginning to wonder if this was all rather a bad idea.
Despite their generally adversarial relationship, Gabriel did not underestimate Crowley's intelligence: much the opposite, in fact. He feared that the demon would soon understand that he was leading them nowhere, and then he would lose Crowley's attention and cooperation altogether. He wasn't sure what measures could be taken next. Having not started out in an amiable place, he was reasonably certain that Crowley wasn't going to react kindly to this deception, not in these circumstances.
And what would an angered agent of Hell mean for him, for Belial? Would Crowley take up the search in earnest, out of spite? Gabriel couldn't imagine it, but then he did not know the price for loyalty in Hell.
Whatever the consequence, at least he had now given Belial three days' head start with this game. He didn't know what else he could do, or how much longer he would be able to distract Crowley if he didn't confront the demon now: either they would be able to come to some sort of understanding about their situation or - more likely - he could delay Crowley for another hour or two. He didn't know what would happen after that, but he was fairly sure that the longer the demon stayed stationary in Lower Tadfield, the more likely Hell was to replace him on this assignment. And the replacement was what worried Gabriel most, more than the demon's current displeasure.
He was seated at a glass-topped table outside a traditional brown cafe, tucked away in the corners of a side street in Amsterdam. It was closed at this hour, and the angel saw no others on the street. All around him were large, oppressive buildings from more modern eras that seemed to smother the cafe in their shadows. Progress, the mortals would likely call the effect; though it felt different to one who had witnessed each of the stages of man firsthand.
The weight of those centuries draped heavily upon him now, as he sat in the hush of darkness - too late to be called morning, too early for night. It was a deeper weariness weighing him down than that which drove most humans to their beds at this hour: Earth seemed to seep one's energy away, even in the quiet moments. But he could not leave now. He did not dare, until he'd seen Crowley's reaction to this abrupt galvanization.
Besides, the presence of the demon was close behind him now, and he had grown used to the unease of waiting.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2007-07-19 05:25 am (UTC)Despite their generally adversarial relationship, Gabriel did not underestimate Crowley's intelligence: much the opposite, in fact. He feared that the demon would soon understand that he was leading them nowhere, and then he would lose Crowley's attention and cooperation altogether. He wasn't sure what measures could be taken next. Having not started out in an amiable place, he was reasonably certain that Crowley wasn't going to react kindly to this deception, not in these circumstances.
And what would an angered agent of Hell mean for him, for Belial? Would Crowley take up the search in earnest, out of spite? Gabriel couldn't imagine it, but then he did not know the price for loyalty in Hell.
Whatever the consequence, at least he had now given Belial three days' head start with this game. He didn't know what else he could do, or how much longer he would be able to distract Crowley if he didn't confront the demon now: either they would be able to come to some sort of understanding about their situation or - more likely - he could delay Crowley for another hour or two. He didn't know what would happen after that, but he was fairly sure that the longer the demon stayed stationary in Lower Tadfield, the more likely Hell was to replace him on this assignment. And the replacement was what worried Gabriel most, more than the demon's current displeasure.
He was seated at a glass-topped table outside a traditional brown cafe, tucked away in the corners of a side street in Amsterdam. It was closed at this hour, and the angel saw no others on the street. All around him were large, oppressive buildings from more modern eras that seemed to smother the cafe in their shadows. Progress, the mortals would likely call the effect; though it felt different to one who had witnessed each of the stages of man firsthand.
The weight of those centuries draped heavily upon him now, as he sat in the hush of darkness - too late to be called morning, too early for night. It was a deeper weariness weighing him down than that which drove most humans to their beds at this hour: Earth seemed to seep one's energy away, even in the quiet moments. But he could not leave now. He did not dare, until he'd seen Crowley's reaction to this abrupt galvanization.
Besides, the presence of the demon was close behind him now, and he had grown used to the unease of waiting.