Gabriel doesn't resist when she shuffles in closer. He's a little surprised by the gesture, but even so, he lifts his hand and clasps her hand to his.
"It shouldn't be long," he reassures her, though the worry still racing through him betrays his easy reassurance. He waits with her like this for a while, his body taut and waiting, holding back the tidal wave of his Grace. Meanwhile, he babbles, because it's too hard to focus on anything meaningful and too much to sit in silence.
He speaks low and with just enough precision to be comprehensible, "When I'm out, I'm going to bring you so much candy you're going to drown in it, you just wait. Or booze, or cake, or whatever it is that sentient time ships like to shove into their semi-corporeal mouths. Or...whatever it is you have. Ah-" His voice trails off for a moment, losing steam under the stain. He takes a deep breath, swallows, then continues. "Definitely any part of my anatomy. Part time loan on those. Though I have a feeling you'd...rather have the candy." He huffs out a pained gasp and his eyes close in concentration. Everything hurts, but especially his wings. It's so intense that it's as if they're being torn from his back.
The very idea of losing his wings makes him shudder and his stomach roil. Could that be a result of this? He hadn't even thought of that before now, but it's entirely possible that, if no one comes, the only way out of this alive might be to rip out his Grace and become human. He feels a surge of panic, deep seated and raw, before he remembers to contain it. As an exercise in concentration, he stretches out his wings, feeling the presence of each painful joint, the brush of feather against feather. They're painful, but they're still there. "They have..." He only brings his wings half of the way back from their stretch, forming an instinctive protective barrier around himself and the TARDIS. "Candy with booze too. And liquor that tastes like candy. Cake soaked in rum. It's delicious."
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"It shouldn't be long," he reassures her, though the worry still racing through him betrays his easy reassurance. He waits with her like this for a while, his body taut and waiting, holding back the tidal wave of his Grace. Meanwhile, he babbles, because it's too hard to focus on anything meaningful and too much to sit in silence.
He speaks low and with just enough precision to be comprehensible, "When I'm out, I'm going to bring you so much candy you're going to drown in it, you just wait. Or booze, or cake, or whatever it is that sentient time ships like to shove into their semi-corporeal mouths. Or...whatever it is you have. Ah-" His voice trails off for a moment, losing steam under the stain. He takes a deep breath, swallows, then continues. "Definitely any part of my anatomy. Part time loan on those. Though I have a feeling you'd...rather have the candy." He huffs out a pained gasp and his eyes close in concentration. Everything hurts, but especially his wings. It's so intense that it's as if they're being torn from his back.
The very idea of losing his wings makes him shudder and his stomach roil. Could that be a result of this? He hadn't even thought of that before now, but it's entirely possible that, if no one comes, the only way out of this alive might be to rip out his Grace and become human. He feels a surge of panic, deep seated and raw, before he remembers to contain it. As an exercise in concentration, he stretches out his wings, feeling the presence of each painful joint, the brush of feather against feather. They're painful, but they're still there. "They have..." He only brings his wings half of the way back from their stretch, forming an instinctive protective barrier around himself and the TARDIS. "Candy with booze too. And liquor that tastes like candy. Cake soaked in rum. It's delicious."