took the razor in my hand / joining

[GABRIEL]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Any other day, Gabe would be right there with Moon over the kid's name. Loverboy? Was this the 50s? No, he did not want to call someone with an age gap between them as large as the space between Moon's brain and his mouth Loverboy. But he couldn't find it in him to throw a snide remark up alongside Moon's, maybe make a jab about cluelessness. Probably a bad idea to have bothered approaching in the first place when he knew he was going to be shitty company, with a headache that just about crippled him and a raw tear between his ribs that no bandages could reach. To think he'd believed he'd struck rock bottom, that his body falling apart was the worst thing that could happen. A reminder, maybe, of why he'd always been careful not to get too close with the people under his command, because when he did, and when he inevitably lost them to death or discharge or disappearance, he laid himself in the rut and couldn't bring himself to crawl out of it.

"Hell." There was no teasing lilt to the hybrid's voice, or sparkle in his eyes. "Best to just turn around and go back to where you came from. Safer that way." Well, he gave his warning. He could lead a horse to water but he couldn't make it drink, so Gabriel turned and trudged in the opposite direction, wings dragging in the dirt.
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