#901 words

Another look confirmed that there were several beholders that were indeed massive and almost pure platinum. With raised brows, he acknowledged the expensive tastes in lab equipment. The pure material cost was… substantial. In the ten to hundred thousands? It did beg the question in what price classes the chaos in those walls played. It’s not consistent. Some bookshelves seemed to be cheap glued-together wood, the glassware partially C-grade. The carpet not particularly high quality...

Walking back into the living-hobby-room, he looked around and saw maybe a genuine oil painting crammed into a corner. Cashmere wool in the wool bin. Genuine silk she was spinning. Directly around the corner was a small desk with a dedicated lamp and small tools to maintain mechanical pieces. Those seemed to be… clockworks. And those also did not look… cheap.

So this particular angel at least had an eye for quality… sometimes. Taking this into account, the whole area looked more intentional. Not only tidy, but a somewhat coordinated chaos – somehow.

If he had to be honest with himself? He liked the place. Definitely not his style. But it had charme. In a slightly too cold way. He was certain there was no draft in the room. But the windows already made it feel that way.

For emphasis, a cough came from the mastermind behind it. And it wasn’t from the same spot he left her in. Taking three more steps around the next shelf, he saw her stand there and take a deep breath.

She turned when he made another step on the naked wooden floor. Her expression and deadpan. Raphael, apart from a barely visible sickly feverish blush, she looked like she was supposed to be taken seriously. Posture straight, eyes clear, mouth unamused and looking down on him, even with the height difference.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at this apparently intact and slightly aggressive archangel for about five seconds. Until she visibly recognized him, her shoulders slumped, her features softened and she smiled apologetically: “I’ll… have… tea ready in a moment” and she sneezed into her elbow, only slowly standing up to her smaller-looking height with a groan.

Hm. So. That had happened…

He definitely had to put in a veto on the moving around, if he had anything to say about it. She looked at Asmodeus while he stepped closer, big questioning eyes watched at him, she apparently had absolutely nothing to input on the matter.

After setting down the soup on the table, he nudged her sternum with two fingers. The most miniscule of pressure was used. The angel unceremoniously fell back onto the couch, knees buckling as soon as they hit the slightest resistance. Didn’t even try to keep her balance. Simply accepted the falland landed. Didn't brace for an impact in the slightest. But then sat there, looking bothered: “… can’t make tea that way”

He put a hand on his hip, almost not believing it. That was… even less sensible than he had expected: “You do not need to make tea, angel. In fact. You’re not supposed to do anything. You're supposed to rest.”

When she did absolutely nothing but look up with a blank expression, he put a hand on her forehead to check how the fever was doing. Since her skin was undoubtedly and significantly warmer than his own hand… it seemed to be a very active immune response. Plus: the angel closed her eyes and leaned against his hand with a relieved sigh.

“… how did you let it get that bad, mh?” He ran his hand over her hair and stroked over the mess on her back.

Another staring moment, then she said: “… haven’t slept since five years,” she shrugged very slowly and then tried to move to get up again.

“Oh no, you don’t…” He pushed her down in the cushions and just… let a miracle take care of a full tea can and some cups, plus soup bowls and a ladle, when he was already at it: “See, there’s tea. No reason to move. Now… you know it’s helpful to actually sleep, right? I know we don’t have to, but you can.” Fevered doctors might forget the simplest things.

“… can’t. Tried. Milk… n melatonin… n warmth… n bed-nest… n… yeah... no…” She shivered the words out.

Seeing that, Asmodeus grabbed the original blanket… and another one from the pile... pulled her a bit away from the backrest and wrapped them around her. She grabbed the ends thankfully and nestled. The angel probably didn't even notice that he sat down next to her: “You did take medication. Right?”

After the usual waiting period, she nodded: “Ibuprofen… and vitamin C… didn’t… didn’t do much.”

The weird-ass people here simply thought that is was actually impossible for a thing to break when it hits the floor. How... how decadently arrogant can you even be?! I threw the book against a wall. When I walked over and looked at it, I was almost angry to see that it wasn't even crinkled. There wasn't even a dent in the spine. I knocked at it and it did indeed feel like a normal book. sounded, felt and looked like a proper cover. The pages also looked, felt and sounded - even smelled - like proper paper. ... I tried my darnest to rip it right now and... no. No chance. I put my foot on it and tried to rip out a single page. This... this was not okay. It was light, too! ... I didn't want to think too hard about it. In the end, I built book-houses. Since they were unbreakable - and less useful that bricks, entertainment-wise -, I had no remorse in doing so. shuffling every page together and trying to pull them apart was also kind of interesting... because it was NOT difficult. There was no adhesion between the pages, I could pull them away without problem and- "Oh, why are you still here?", said the alien, blinking his eyes. Apparently, walls opened silently.

"Well, you left me here. What did you expect?", I kept flippancy out of my voice, sounded level and even a little gentle, really. I did well. Anything that wasn't throwing a book at his head was well. "... right. You... are not aware how to move through the city", he scratched his head, "... the information flow is cut both ways, of course. Ah. I am terribly sorry. It is very rare for anyone to not share their information", he looked apologetic. "... everyone want their thoughts read", because that's the thing I had refused, wasn't it?, "Really?" "Well, why would it matter?", he shrugged, "It's information. It makes more sense if it is accumu... lated..." There and then he stared at me, looking me in the eyes. I looked back at him, as neutral as I could, not giving him anything to... to remark on. "Mh", he stretched his shoulder a little, "Alright. Then... we have to give you a designation. And a word. 'Open' with suffice, yes?" I warily nodded. "What is your designation?", he looked at me. I looked back. "What." "Ah... your... your name. Yes", he looked a little crook-antenna-ed, again. Suspicious? Doubtful? "... Gabrielle. My name is Gabrielle" At that, he twitched again: "Different languages, then. Well. We will designate you as... 'Gabrielle' then...", my name sounded very strange on whatever he had instead of a tongue. But apparently, he tried, "... it identifies you, activates your access-data and will open any door for you. Please, try..." He pointed at the wall behind him and said: "Go to it, say your name and say... open" I raised my brow, but did as I was told: "Gabrielle... open" ... and the wall slid to the side. Seemlessly. It disappeared. Now that I could see: There was no room for the door. Well. Maybe in the wall, but... it WAS the wall usually, so... So... I wished my Earth physics back. But at least the presence of hallways was still a thing. And so I followed it til then end, ended in font of a wall and said: "Gabrielle... open" And it did.