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Master! Help! Gabriel thinks our Seraph is you!

Dominic does not hesitate. He is not on call for random invocations, but for something like this...

It would be a (depressing) relief to try Gabriel for finally revealing how unstable and dangerous she is.

He appears in a run-down apartment. Two Cherubim hold each other from interfering, kneeling on the floor. One is his, who Sang to him. The other is Fire's. His Seraph is literally cornered, a chair and coffee table knocked over beside him, and his Malakite tugs gingerly at the arm of...


Female form, as was now usual. Dressed in the tatters of a red shirt and yellow skirt. One foot in a red dress shoe, stained satin. One foot bare.

"...cold within," she was whispering, pulling at his Seraph's shirt. "Cold coals smothered in the fabric, smothered in the darkness. Remove the hiding, reveal the hidden, where is your voice..."

Dominic sighs, and uses a Song -- Motion, muffled so the disturbance will not leave the room. His Seraph blinks from the corner to next to him, with a muffled, "OhthankGod" as he ducks behind Dominic. His Malakite looks around and... sadly, scurries is the only right word for how she gets next to the Seraph.

Gabriel turns, seeming confused. Her eyes light -- literally, beginning to glow -- as she sees him. "Dominic..."

From the side of his mouth, he tells his Servitors, "Go from here. Take her Cherub. Watch for her Guardians and aid them as necessary."

The triad is all too happy to comply as the Ofanite Archangel dance-stalks toward him. Even the Fire-Cherub is willing to be hustled out the door, leaving the two Archangels alone together.

He suffers her to come to him -- edging around the room had not helped his Servitor, and would hardly aid him. He lets her finger his corporeal garments, even though they wisp smoke at her touch. "Please do not molest my Servitors," he says, calmly.

"The servant of the man is the hand of the man. If thy hand offend thee, strike it off. The fire of the wound is the healing of the wound, the battle raging in miniature, sparks and coals."

For Gabriel, it is almost comprehensible. "My Servitors are not me. If you object to me, do not take it out on them."

She grabs him by his corporeal lapels, the greatcoat form his Cloak takes. She goes on tip-toe to hiss into his face, "You. Are. Cold."

He closes his eyes, expecting another jumbled rant of quotes and words and allegory that will be opaque to even his resonance.

Instead, she kisses him in a hot invasion.

It shocks his eyes open. It does not shock him into taking a step back because she still has a deathgrip upon his Cloak. Instead, it shocks him into trying to take a step back -- and toppling them both to the floor.

This is not the distraction he'd had in mind, to keep her from harming anyone until her Guardians arrived. It's a painful smack on his human backside, back, and head. It's an unwanted rampage of hot skin and flesh and teeth. It's undignified, corporeal, altogether not what he'd had in mind, and he is about to get a hand between them and thrust her away when he hears her whispering.

"Left, right, left behind, right ahead, empty empty the center is empty and I shall not let him fill it, foolish symbolism, I am Wheel he shall not fill me cannot fill me I am Fire I am passion I am Fire I am Fire I am Fire I am I am I am I am not him! He is not me. He is not inside me!" Gabriel tears his shirt open. "I do not... He does not define me! He will not..."

She pauses, sitting up, and looks around. Dominic strongly considers Singing himself out of here, but... She whispers, "My Cherub, my Cherub, where are you? Where are you? He is hurting someone. I am not him. I... I need... I need..."

If there is anything that Dominic does not need, it is True tears and confusion upon the other Archangel's face. He would rather not think of what Belial might be doing, if Gabriel is seeking a Cherub for passion-play. And he is definitely annoyed that he is the only Archangel around and it would be unJust to leave even mad Gabriel at the mercy of whatever a Prince is trying to do through their shared Word.

In his office, a brief instantiation flickers into place, scribes hasty names upon a paper, and sends a message to Seraphiel to take over those triad visits this week. For, as the manifestation winks out and he reaches to pull Gabriel back down ("Shh, I'm here."), he is not going to have the energy to make all those appointments.

It is a grubby apartment floor, and only his spread Cloak beneath her knees keeps her from igniting it all along with their other clothing. Her will to protect his vessel waxes and wanes, and he must Sing silent Healing. Altogether, it is a duty done from angelic love.

But, he realizes as he watches her cry out with some momentary instance of peace, he might have enjoyed it more had their corporeal genders been reversed -- and both hearts less broken.