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[All that posts is a single word, painted onto a nondescript wall in unpleasant-looking mud.]







[It's Enochian for "Grace." The PCD doesn't translate because it's only a picture. Raphael needs to ask a question, but the world doesn't need to know.]







[It's Enochian for "Grace." The PCD doesn't translate because it's only a picture. Raphael needs to ask a question, but the world doesn't need to know.]
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[x, y]
[SEE? HE CAN BE HELPFUL. REALLY.]
[offline]
Brb, popping over there... forty minutes later, after a l o n g walk. She's sweating in her vessel's suit and her feet hurt.]
Hello, Gabriel. [She'll just keep standing. Angels of the Lord don't need to sit. Fuck your couch.]
[offline]
Bet you're regretting those businesswoman heels now, huh?
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Your vessel. Is it fine? [Raphael's fairly certain that hers is asthmatic, but she can't remember. So yes, this is a legitimate question.]
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[He looks up at her, because he's still sprawled on the floor like the concrete is a chaise lounge.] It's 100% depowered pagan god. It's all good.
[Except it has a human-sized hunger, an inevitable blood sugar crash, and he's pretty sure the godness is not keeping the gout away.]
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It's harder than it's supposed to be. Sob. She grunts.]
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Or should I go on?
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We will all stay together until this ridiculousness is over.
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[He stares at her for a moment.] Good idea. Then everyone who wants us dead can have us all in one place.
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We have strength now in nothing but numbers. Come with me, Gabriel.
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Fine, but I get my own room.
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