THIRD-PERSON WRITING SAMPLE: Gabriel, for all intents and purposes, could've looked worse, but he'd pretty much goaded Michael and every other angel who drew the short straw and guarded his cell into doing something a little more than just talking at him and nothing had really came out of it. Nothing.... Major, anyway. There was still a looming threat- the fact that Michael had infinite time to break him if he so chose and that in, itself, was a torture. The Sword of Damocles dangling over his head, if you will.
Michael intended to cut everything that was him out and leave him just like all the other angels, which was an insult. He wasn't a drone- he was an archangel. The Left Hand of God.
....Or was, rather. Maybe that was the point. You give up everything and you don't get the whole VIP package when you return. He was stripped of his rank from the moment he parted the curtain.
When did this become the army? Or, God forbid, a fucking corporate office, like Zachariah used to think. When did it stop being about family?
...Speaking of family.
Gabriel's angsty internal monologue was broken up by Anna's voice and after a few seconds of blinking from the corner of the cell, he scrambled to his feet and ran over to the door. Confusion became shock and shock became relief and then relief became... Irritation. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the rescue party, but Anna had already gotten stuck up here once. He had faith he could tough this joint out. Anna... Not so much. Not a second time.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Oh, he had to admit, he was glad to see her- really, really glad- but sheer worry outweighed everything else. If she got caught, then they'd both be victims of the angel version of a lobotomy and he was not gonna let that happen to her. As selfish and self-preserving as he'd always been, family came first.
"You need to turn your ass around and get back home," he demanded, hoping maybe the whole archangel thing still gave him some sort of clout when it counted. "I'm fine. See? Couldn't be better? I mean, the room could use a few curtains and try getting a decent latte from some of these people, but it could be a lot worse."
One day he'd realize that his coping mechanisms have all been figured out and that the more he protests how okay he is, the less okay he probably is.
"Besides," he added, as if sensing Anna wouldn't buy that and would just argue, "I've got my own plan."
Yeah, so maybe she's trying to save him, which, for the stupidity it entailed, did mean a lot to him. Not many people would've bothered to come save his ass and he knew that from the jump, just like he knew Lucifer would kill him and Michael would yank his ass back up to Heaven and... Coming out of these plans was never really an option. Deserters don't get second chances... Except he and Anna did.
Still didn't change the fact that as much respect as he'd managed to get for the Host since his death, he still didn't trust Him worth a lick. He only seemed to interfere when it was good for Him. So he didn't have faith anymore. He had faith in humanity- sort of- which was sorta the original point, he figured. Faith in humanity, however... Was part of what got him into this mess.
Faith in Anna, however, provided he could stop trying to act like his dick was bigger, might get him out.
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Michael intended to cut everything that was him out and leave him just like all the other angels, which was an insult. He wasn't a drone- he was an archangel. The Left Hand of God.
....Or was, rather. Maybe that was the point. You give up everything and you don't get the whole VIP package when you return. He was stripped of his rank from the moment he parted the curtain.
When did this become the army? Or, God forbid, a fucking corporate office, like Zachariah used to think. When did it stop being about family?
...Speaking of family.
Gabriel's angsty internal monologue was broken up by Anna's voice and after a few seconds of blinking from the corner of the cell, he scrambled to his feet and ran over to the door. Confusion became shock and shock became relief and then relief became... Irritation. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the rescue party, but Anna had already gotten stuck up here once. He had faith he could tough this joint out. Anna... Not so much. Not a second time.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Oh, he had to admit, he was glad to see her- really, really glad- but sheer worry outweighed everything else. If she got caught, then they'd both be victims of the angel version of a lobotomy and he was not gonna let that happen to her. As selfish and self-preserving as he'd always been, family came first.
"You need to turn your ass around and get back home," he demanded, hoping maybe the whole archangel thing still gave him some sort of clout when it counted. "I'm fine. See? Couldn't be better? I mean, the room could use a few curtains and try getting a decent latte from some of these people, but it could be a lot worse."
One day he'd realize that his coping mechanisms have all been figured out and that the more he protests how okay he is, the less okay he probably is.
"Besides," he added, as if sensing Anna wouldn't buy that and would just argue, "I've got my own plan."
Yeah, so maybe she's trying to save him, which, for the stupidity it entailed, did mean a lot to him. Not many people would've bothered to come save his ass and he knew that from the jump, just like he knew Lucifer would kill him and Michael would yank his ass back up to Heaven and... Coming out of these plans was never really an option. Deserters don't get second chances... Except he and Anna did.
Still didn't change the fact that as much respect as he'd managed to get for the Host since his death, he still didn't trust Him worth a lick. He only seemed to interfere when it was good for Him. So he didn't have faith anymore. He had faith in humanity- sort of- which was sorta the original point, he figured. Faith in humanity, however... Was part of what got him into this mess.
Faith in Anna, however, provided he could stop trying to act like his dick was bigger, might get him out.