[audio . open]

[delightme]

Alexander Wilton has opened communication!

[This call was actually supposed to be only for Gabriel, but since he's really drunk, it's going out to everyone. His voice is a little slurred, although it's still mostly intelligible.]

Do you remember flying? I think...I think that's why we fall. Flying--. Flying was our little peephole into freedom, you know. I bet Father did that on purpose. He always...always had a poor sense of humor.

[Silence.]

I flew. I think. It felt like it, anyway. Maybe I'm imagining it. I can't seeeee my wings. Of course not. I just... I wake up these days wondering why the hell I do.

Comments

[trickntreats]

And then it came back to bite you in the ass.

[Gabriel watches for a minute or two longer to make sure the other angel is actually eating, then turns toward the door.]

Right. You finish that, while I find our way out of this maze you've brought us into to take you--back to Alex's apartment.

[delightme]

Yes, mother. [For once, Balthazar does what he's told, too exhausted to put up a fight.] I like his home. Sometimes I think I would prefer I was him. Life would be...easier.

[trickntreats]

[The archangel pauses and glances without meaning to toward the wardrobe, where Sylvester's photo album has been hidden since the night Re-l got him drunk. And because Balthazar's being honest, Gabriel is too.]

I don't. From what I've seen and heard Sylvester's life was just about as shitty as mine. At least I could snap up some fun for myself.

[But Sylvester has a home, even if it is a moveable one. A purpose, other than to wallow in bitterness. And if Gabriel's being honest ...]

Kind of wish I had my own caravan, though.

[delightme]

I'm sure Alexander's wasn't much better, if they were from the same family. [That's what had always gotten him in the beginning: the frightening similarities. The eccentic, yet absent father, the loyal, militant son, the big family feud. If Balthazar really was more of the questioning type, he might confuse himself and Alexander. But he knew better; knew that those memories were made similar to his to get to stay in line.]

We all wish a lot of things. [Him particularly.]

[trickntreats]

They are.

[He says it wearily but without hesitation, still staring at the wardrobe. It takes a couple of seconds before he explains why, though.]

Sylvester ... has a picture album. Of us. Of all of us.

[delightme]

[Well, THAT was odd. How could they possibly have fabricated pictures of his brothers and sisters who technically didn't have human bodies. Or faces.] How? We're the only ones here.

[trickntreats]

[Gabriel throws up his hands.]

How should I know? Some of them are pretty obviously their meatsuits, but not all of us took vessels.

[He could still, eventually, tell who was who just by how they acted through a series of photographs. After a moment's hesitation he opened the wardrobe and felt for the hidden compartment, withdrawing the beautifully-made book and putting it on the counter. Not that he's going to blame Balthazar if he didn't want to look, but this was apparently a night for sharing.

[He's just going to avoid looking at that very first picture, himself. The one of the archangels and their Father.]