Chapter Nineteen:
Shaking Out The Dust
by Chris and V
The combined scents of chicken wings, Bud Light, and borrowed Pantene hairspray followed the petite blonde as she raced through the library. A tattered black and tan knapsack bounced back and forth as she bounded up the stairs. Cheeks flushed from running in the cold, Charlie searched the study areas frantically. If only those Theta Xi boys hasn't insisted on hanging around HER tables for a full hour past her shift at Hooters, she might have been able to arrive somewhat on time...
There. The group that was leaving... that was hers. With an exaggerated wave, she tried to flag down one of the guys from her class. "Hey! Y'all were doin' stuff fer App'lachian Lit, right?" The loudest twangy whisper she could muster prompted a few rude stares, which Charlie sweetly ignored. "Ah know we were meetin' an hour ago, but these guys jus' wouldn' leave fer th'longest time, an', well, s'why Ah'm late." She leaned against the table, unzipping her gray hoodie to reveal her work uniform as she smiled up apologetically. "Sorry, sugar. Guess Ah should at least hand ya mah part of the study outline, just so y'don' think Ah'm slackin' er somethin'."
"Oh, yeah, okay, thanks, umm," said the boy who was handed the papers, trying to think of her name. `She works at Hooters?' he thought, looking at her apparel, then quickly looking back at her face. `The face, focus on the face,' he told himself, `think of something to say until you remember her name.'
Yes, this was Ian Michaels, and he was dealing with a female. A female dressed in the attire of a Hooter's worker which means it wasn't a lot. He'd spent a long day in class, then at the library, getting a group project together (oh, how he disliked group projects). To top it all off, he'd been secretly lugging around a nun in the clever disguise of a weasel in his backpack her idea, of course.
"I'd think you'd be cold, wearing those shorts," he said. "They're kinda... small... and orange..." Ian trailed off. His plan to think of something to talk about had succeeded; sadly, it all hinged on his ability to talk to attractive females a heinous error.
"Yeah, an' they ride up something awful, 'specially with the pantyhose they make ya wear with it," Charlie quipped good-naturedly. She leaned against the table, thankful to be able to drop the sweetness she'd kept up all afternoon at work. "Part of me's kinda happy t'be late, y'know?" She jerked a thumb over at a few parting group members. "Ain't nothin' worse than a buncha people who think that jus' 'cause somethin' says 'Appalachian' on it, it's gonna be dumb or simple." She paused, scratching at her blonde curls. "Did Ah miss th'important stuff?"
Ian had the feeling that, perhaps, just maybe, this girl may have been from Appalachia herself. "Well, we basically just sat around and talked about what we'd done, and squabbled over details. We didn't really do anything, nothing important." He was relieved that his first comment went over so well, and that his skin had been prevented from turning interesting shades of scarlet.
He leafed casually through the papers that Charlie had given him. Right on top, in pretty girl writing was her name Charlie Musgrave. `Thank God,' he thought. "I'm guessing that you're from the Appalachian area, right, Charlie?"
"Born an' raised," she answered proudly with a toss of her head. "Sittin' in class is a treat most days." She twisted her mouth around, chewing on chapped lips as she scrutinized the young man in front of her. Familiar, but from where... he didn't act like a regular at the restaurant, nor did he seem the type to be at the KA house parties.
She ungraciously brought her thumb to her mouth, nibbling a hangnail as she spoke. "Ah swear Ah've seen ya somewhere outside of class, an' fer th'life of me, Ah can't 32? Wait, that's it," she interrupted herself, pulling her hand away and pointing at his chest. "32, lacrosse, right?"
Ian glanced down at his chest, half expecting that he'd somehow managed to wear his lacrosse uniform all day without realizing it. No, it was the shirt he thought that he'd had on. Ian grinned a bit, "Yeah, I do play lacrosse, and that is my number. How can you tell, though? I mean, we all wear those crazy masks and things."
Ian's bag on the table shifted a bit.
The perky blonde gave a knowing wink, not noticing the bag as she leaned against the table next to it. "Got a few friends on the team, an' Ah watch practices, an' Ah remember th' really cute ones." She laughed at her own casual flirtations.
Ian blushed. "Stop sayin' nice things, you'll make me think I'm special, or somethin'."
The bag shifted more. The bag began to wiggle, almost as if Clare was dancing inside of it. Ian eyed it very suspiciously; what in the world was going on in there? By this point, even Charlie had noticed, he was afraid that others would see as well. "Just a second," Ian said, grabbing the bag.
Charlie pulled her hand away from the table. "Yeah, sure. Y'know, Ah'm dyin' t'git outta these clothes. Gimme two secs, an' Ah'll meet ya back here." She frowned slightly at the bag, but decided that nothing said was better said. "Be right back, promise!" With that, she jogged towards the ladies' room, thankful for the chance to change out of her too-short and too-tight uniform.
Ian gave her a big stupid grin, and shook his head yes. As she bounced down the hall to the bathroom, he took the still squirming bag, and hurried into a corner. He unzipped it the rest of the way (it had been partially left open, for air), and looked into the bag. Two giant brown eyes looked right back up at him. "What in the world are you doing?" Ian hissed to the bag.
"Dancing for joy!" came the jubilant female voice from his backpack.
"Okay, but why?" he asked.
"Well, I was taking a nap, because it was so very warm in that backpack, and I'd been trying to sense senshi all day long, and that isn't as easy or simple as it may seem. Anyway, I'd been trying to sense any Angelus at your college, but hadn't found a single one, so I took a nap," answered Claire.
"You already said you were taking a nap," sighed Ian.
"I know, but I'm getting there," she answered. "I was taking a nap, when I felt something! I felt an Angelus, Ian! Praise God! Right next to my bag, I heard a girl, it was her!" Clare's voice throbbed with joy.
"Her?"
"Her."
"Wow. That's... yay?"
"Yes, Ian. Very yay."
Ian glanced again around him, so far, he didn't see anyone looking at him oddly but sooner or later he'd be getting looks for being the guy talking to the bag. "Listen, I've got to try to get her someplace less public than the library. I'll, um, get her, someplace," he trailed off. "You be quiet for a few minutes, and stop dancing, okay?"
"Okay!" chirped Clare.
Ian hurried back to the table where he and Charlie had been talking a few minutes prior, to wait for her.
Half a minute passed, and Charlie darted out of the bathroom in ragged but clean sweatpants and comfortably worn sneakers, hands kept warm in the pockets of her hoodie. "That's so much better," she sighed in greeting. "Ain't nothing worse than pantyhose, y'know?" Her bag hit the table with a soft thud. "Well, Ah guess y'don't know, really, y'know?"
"No, um, not really," said Ian. "Listen, I sorta need to talk to you in private about something, so, um, could we go someplace more... private?" Ian felt terribly nervous as he asked this everyone knew that asking a girl to meet you in private was almost exactly like something resembling asking her to possibly, at some distant point in the future, marry you. At least, that is, if everyone was Ian; thankfully most people aren't.
"Um, yeah," came the slow reply. "Like a study room here, or someplace else?" Cautious, Charlie slowly began to work her cell phone out of the front pocket of her knapsack. She'd grown up around boys for the better part of her life, and she knew how they operated. While common sense told her that #32 was nothing more than an awkward gentleman, the devil's advocate screeched that 'private' was code for non-gentlemanly advances.
"Study room is fine, yeah, great," said Ian. He fidgeted with his hands, then stuffed them into his pockets, then realized that he needed to grab is book-bag, so he yanked them out of his pockets, and grabbed the pack. "So, um, upstairs? Oh yeah, I'm Ian, I don't think I ever said. I think." Verbosity was apparently not his strong suit tonight.
The cell phone left in the bag, Charlie beamed as she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "Y'didn't. Ian, huh?" With her accent, the name came out as a single syllable. "S'nice." Slinging her own bag over her shoulder, she started off for the stairs.
Ian quickly followed Charlie up the stairs, where they ducked into an empty study room. He gently placed his bag down onto the table, and said, "Listen, the reason I wanted to talk to you in private was to explain what was going on with my bookbag." He opened it up, and withdrew from it's depths a long, sinuous white colored animal of the weasel persuasion. "This is Claire, and I couldn't really pull her out downstairs," he said, holding Clare to his chest. "Be good Claire."
Claire grinned a toothy weasel smile up at Charlie.
Claire received a toothy human smile from Charlie in return. Without fear of losing fingers or being nipped, Charlie stretched out a hand to the animal Ian had produced from his bag. "Oh, ain't she the most adorable thang," she drawled, tracing a finger down Claire's back. "She's an awful big sorta ferret, huh? But bless me, she's all kindsa purty," the blonde cooed. "Did you not wanna sit through stupid group projects either, baby?"
"I was taking a nap," Claire purred, nuzzling her head into Charlie's hand. "Because it was all so very boring, and I was tired. But I'm a weasel, dear."
Charlie snatched her hand away, stumbling backwards a few feet and knocking over a chair in the process. She fell hard against the table, eyes wide as she looked from weasel to student to bookbag and back for a handful of seconds. "Ian," she finally managed, "you got yerself a talkin' weasel. That sorta stuff ain't normal." She swallowed hard, hugging herself tightly to keep from falling over. "No offense, ma'am," she added politely to Claire.
"Ian!" Claire snapped. "Get over there and make sure that she's alright."
"Right," Ian said, hustling over to Charlie's side. "Listen, I know that this is going to be a really big shock, but, yes, the weasel talks. She's Saint Claire."
"Of Assisi!" added in Claire's motherly voice.
"Of Assisi," said Ian. He held out his hand, "You need some help?"
Charlie's Catholic upbringing only helped to add to her shock at the mention of a saint's name. "Saint Claire of Assisi? Like, with Saint Francis? Like, 'make me a channel of your peace' an' all that?" She took Ian's hand, but kept her gaze on Claire.
"Where there is hatred let me bring you love, where there is injury, pardon Lord, and where there is doubt, true faith in You," finished Claire, her large eyes misting over a bit. "Francis was a dear friend, true and faithful in his service. Its been so very long," she murmured.
"Um, listen, what Clare is trying to say is that you're one of the Angelus senshi. You were chosen to host this sort of celestial warrior within; I don't really understand it all that much," Ian added.
Clare reentered reality. "Handpicked by God to serve as one of His own," Clare beamed. "You've been given the power to fight evil, isn't that exciting?"
"Uh, yeah. Y'could use 'exciting' as a way to describe it." She let go of Ian's hand, propping herself up against a chair. A long slow breath escaped her, and Charlie looked to Ian. "You do this sorta stuff all th'time? Findin' people, scaring the stuff outta them with a talkin' weasel, an' then sayin' that they're some warrior incarnate?" Sarcasm, annoyance, and disbelief managed to resonate in her high-pitched twang. "Ah mean, if she's Saint Claire - which, ma'am, I'm wholly inclined t'believe, don't git me wrong then who're you? The archangel Gabriel or somethin'?" She gave a wry laugh at her own joke.
"Um, well, yeah," Ian said, blushing a bit, and grinning. "Gabriel Knight, Archangelus of water."
"Oh, just show her," Claire said. "It'll be easier."
"Right," Ian agreed, nodding. "Gabriel Archangelus Power, Suit Up!" The cross that was around his neck began to glow, snapped off of his neck, and turned into a sword, with a white and gold belt. The sword attached itself to Ian's waist, and there was a flash of gold and scarlet. Golden script re-worked itself around his arms, and a set of gold and alexandrite armlets snapped into his wrists. Taking the sword out of it's sheath, he knelt down on one knee, hands clasped on the sword, and his face towards Heaven. He looked over at Charlie. "Believe me now?"
It took a few tries before Charlie could manage something like a nod. "Uh, yeah," she offered hoarsely. "Um, 'cause last time I checked, it ain't smart t'not believe a messenger of God Himself." Her knees weak, she tightened her grip on the chair. Angels. Saints. Talking weasels. "And y'don't say 'no' to 'em, either."
"What a nice young lady," Clare beamed. "And you knew the prayer of Saint Francis, are you by any chance Catholic?"
"Clare..." sighed Gabriel.
"Well, it never hurts to ask."
"Yes ma'am." She managed a half-smile at Clare. "Prob'ly ain't destined for sainthood, but I try, if that's worth anything." Charlie did her best to keep from trembling, as being in the presence of an honest-to-goodness archangel wasn't exactly the most relaxing of situations. "An' usually, y'don't see angels unless you gotta do somethin' important, or if you're in trouble."
"Oh, what you're doing is very important, you're not in trouble at all!" Claire bubbled. "You are Sailor Suphlatus, the Angelus senshi of dust!"
Gabriel stared at Claire. "Dust?" he asked in an unbelieving voice.
"Dust," she answered. Clare scuttled over to where Charlie was. "Now, would you like to be able to transform like Ian did, to unlock your gift?"
Charlie did the only acceptable thing when confronted by a saintly animal and a sword-wielding Angelus, and nodded. "Yes'm."
"Wonderful!" Claire burbled. Claire was so happy to find such a willing-to-cooperate young lady. The weasel scrambled back into Ian's bag, and came out with a very large and old-fashioned looking feather duster in her mouth. "Mmmm mmm mmuu mmphmmphmm-mmphm," she said, with the duster in her mouth.
"Err, Claire? Maybe without the duster in your mouth?" Gabriel asked, as he sheathed his sword.
Clare let the duster fall on the table, and then said, "This is your transformation item. Go ahead, take it, it won't bite. Now, I want you to hold this, and say "Suphlatus Angelus Power, Make up!"
"Don't worry, it doesn't hurt or anything," said Gabriel. "Just feels kinda funny the first time or two."
Gingerly, Charlie took the duster in her palm and examined it. "Okay," she finally agreed, straightening up. "Ah'm goin' on faith here, an' not much else. Suphlatus Angelus Power, Make Up!"
The duster smacked against her other hand of its own accord, creating a cloud of dust that began to eat at her sweatpants. As Charlie coughed and spluttered, the featherduster flew from her hands, frantically cleaning the henshin-inspired mess. Light and grey-brown dust rained down, now taking on the shape of a many-times-patched barmaid's outfit. When the light subsided, Suphlatus stood in front of the pair, a film of dirt in a perfect circle about her feet.
"Well, bless me," she drawled in awe. "Fer an angel's outfit, this is damn sinful." She pointed to the extremely low neckline with the handle of her duster while talking to Gabriel. "Ah mean, look at this!"
"Guh..." Gabriel said, before the controls to his mouth totally stopped working.
"Oh my, oh my, oh my," said Claire. "Somebody up there has a bad sense of humor. Gabriel, give her your undershirt."
"What?" said Gabriel, shaking his head.
"Give her your undershirt."
"Errrr, but I kinda need that because then I won't really have a shirt, just the vest thing and..."
"Well, we certainly can't have her... flaunting, can we?"
Gabriel looked from the weasel, to the girl, to the weasel, to the girl. Accursed gentlemanly honor always making you do things. "Do ya' want it?"
Suphlatus shrugged, giving off small puffs of dirt as she did. "Nah, ain't no worse than what Ah gotta wear t'work. But thanks, Ah 'preciate it." Feeling a bit lightheaded, she finally pulled out a chair and sat down. The whole sensation was odd, and she felt strangely grimy, but not in an uncomfortable way. "So, what do y'all do? Ah mean, Ah've never seen angels 'round here or nothing."
"Well, you can't really have a lot of people knowing about this, dear," answered Claire. "That would be dangerous. We are here to combat the Grigori, the fallen ones. They turned from the divine will."
"There are also other groups," added in Gabriel. "I've fought Graikos and Romanus before, they're like Greek and Roman. I'm not really sure what they're doing here."
"Uselessly squabbling over some old problem, I'm sure," said Claire, perfectly happy in condemning other teams for the selfsame thing that her own was doing within its ranks. "They're not what's most important though."
"Basically you go around and fight other people it's our duty."
Fight? Duty? Suphlatus made no attempt to hide the confused twist of her lips or the worried expression in her eyes. "We walk around an' pick fights? How? Ah mean, you got yerself that nice shiny sword," she noted, pointing at Gabriel. Seated next to him, she looked liked she'd be more likely to clean up after a battle than participate in it. "What am I s'posed t'do, bonk people with a featherduster?"
"Oh, my no," Claire said. "That's what powers are for, of course. You're the Angelus of dust, so you have abilities tied to that. You have two different powers, the first one is Dustwall, the second one is Angel Dust. Try them out, you can use Gabriel as a test subject."
"She can what?" sputtered Gabriel.
"She needs practice, who else is going to do it?" Claire asked.
"Umm, nobody," conceded Gabriel Knight.
"All you need to do is say "Time to clean up!" for Dustwall or simply "Angel Dust", and the rest should follow nicely," instructed Claire.
The newest Angelus looked from weasel to archangel a few times. "Okay, but Ah ain't responsible if Ah blow up th'library," she replied. Suphlatus stood up and straightened her skirt, the accompanying cloud making her nose twitch. "So, uh, here goes. Angel Dust!"
As she snapped the fingers of her right hand, a greyish bit of fluff appeared in her hand. Without thinking, she gently lobbed it at Gabriel's chest.
`She's throwing a dust bunny at me,' thought Gabriel. `What in the world is that supposed to do? Make me a little dirty? Meh, I can handle that.' Gabriel let the bit of fuzz hit him squarely in the chest he was going to take it like a man. He was also going to make a fool of himself like a man in a few seconds.
The ball hit his chest, and exploded into a fine grayish cloud, the dust getting in his eyes, and nostrils and mouth. It was likely a good thing that he'd put his sword back in its sheath. The room was swimming around him, objects slid into other objects, the table kept wobbling in front of him. Gabriel tried to grab a chair to steady himself, but missed, and fell backwards.
His arms, there was something eating his arms, but he couldn't say anything about it, his mouth didn't want to work. He clumsily tore off his armlets, and threw them across the room, the soft gold denting as they smashed against the wall. He lay there, panting on the floor, as the other two watched.
Suphlatus stood up, having ducked to avoid one of the armlets. Cautiously, she took a few steps forward, a hand stretched out to help him up as apologies tumbled out. "Ah'm -so- sorry, Ah didn't know what it would do, Ah jus' thouht it would be somethin' little. Are you okay? Oh geez, knockin' an angel over, Ah'm gonna be sayin' Hail Marys for all eternity after this one, Ah jus' know it."
Gabriel blinked a bit; whatever it was that she'd done seemed to be going away. Objects held their form, and he could think more clearly. He took her hand, and let her help him stand up. "For a bunch of dust, that packs a wallop. What was it?"
Clare entered into the conversation, "Well, she did say `Angel Dust' didn't she? That's some sort of horrible drug, isn't it? I heard it mentioned once on `Mother Angelica: Live', I think."
"She watches the Catholic channel on TV while I'm at school," answered Gabriel, sheepishly grinning.
Suphlatus smiled back. "Well, y'wouldn't expect her t'watch MTV, would ya?" She gave his hand a squeeze before going to retrieve the armlets. Part of her still felt the slightest bit guilty about causing Gabriel to go through that, and part of her secretly wanted to try it again. "So, what happens now? An' Sister Clare, ma'am, what're Grigori? You said they're the ones we're s'posed t'fight."
"Grigori are Fallen," Claire answered. "They're a choir of angels who were sent to help guide men, but instead chose to help themselves, and disobey the will of God."
"What happens now is you go around during the nights, try to keep regular people from seeing you, and go out looking for the Grigori, so that you skirmish with them, hone your abilities," said Gabriel. "But no going at it alone, though," he added as an afterthought. He took the armlets that Suphlatus gave him, they were a bit bent out of shape, but he managed to wrap them around his wrists again.
Suphlatus nodded and sneezed. Clearly, she'd have to start carrying Kleenex if she was going to go out on this fallen angel search. It definitely sounded both important and fun. As for going out on her own, well... the blonde figured those rules could bend, just a smidgen, as time went on.
Then again... Suphlatus watched the armored young man fix the gold around his wrists. This was the archangel Gabriel, with his trusted saintly companion, telling her not to go out by herself. Perhaps some rules weren't supposed to bend, after all.
"So, we're gonna set a date t'go an' look for naughty angels?" She grinned broadly. "Or is this one of those things where y'show up and Ah drop what Ah'm doing no matter what?"
"Um, date," said Gabriel. "Unless there was something extremely important, but I've never known that to happen before..." Gabriel's mind suddenly brought a picture of him bleeding in a phone booth and blind to the forefront. "Oh, yeah. I once got into a fight with a Graikos, Hecate, and she stabbed me, and made me blind, and I filled her lungs with water. We both kinda left after that. I had to call in Ardy, um, Ardousius, he's the Angelus of motherhood, to come in and save my butt. I was sort of bleeding all over a phone booth. And that's why you don't go out by yourself."
"STABBED YOU?" Suphlatus shrieked in the previously quiet library, clapping both hands over her mouth half a second later. "Oh mah goodness, that ain't good at all." Quickly, she traced a cross on the dusty skin above her heart. "Ah promise, Ah'll never go patrollin' by mahself. S'good to know there ain't just you... no 'fense, that is."
"Oh, that's alright," said Gabriel. "Let's see, there's Ardy, he's motherhood, Ariel, he's earth, Seraphiel, he's an Archangelus of battle, and, um, Azrael, she's an Archangelus of death... Oh, Ariel mentioned someone else, but I can't remember for the life of me who or what she is, except that it's a she. There's bound to be others, though. Just haven't found them yet," he said, grinning.
"Don't forget those horrible Grigori," added in Claire. That terrible Akibeel and Ertael Knight."
"Right, but I only know of two Grigori, Claire. Now I know of..." he counted on his fingers, "seven Angelus, including Suphlatus, myself, and the mystery girl."
The newly-christened Angelus of Dust beamed at Claire. "Guess that makes me lucky number seven, huh?" Clearly, she was ecstatic at the thought of more people on their side. "Y'know, we'll all hafta meet t'gether sometime. Y'can always come by th'restaurant, Ah'll git a discount, ya'll can have dinner and whatnot. Which reminds me..." Suphlatus turned her smile on full-dazzle at Gabriel, utterly and platonically sincere. "Y'gotta let me make up to ya, after Ah made ya go all kooky with that magic fluffball thingy. What about a home-cooked dinner, huh?" She winked up at him. "Fried chicken an' then, we'll go on mah very first patrol, huh?"
"I like food," said Gabriel, "But I've never been to Hooters before and um..." here he blushed. "I'd probably just make a fool of myself."
"What's Hooters?" ashed Claire.
"Um, it's a restaurant where, um, guys go because, um, the girls are dressed, um..." Gabriel's hands took on a life of their own, as his mouth couldn't find the proper words to say to Claire, making arcane gestures, as if somehow they could convey the words "tiny orange shorts."
Clare gasped, "A brothel?"
Suphlatus snorted in amusement. "It's a sports bar, not a brothel. Us girls wear outfits that, well, take advantage of th'fact that guys'll eat anythin' as long as there's somebody with a purty, uh, smile," she said, pointing to her cleavage. She wasn't ashamed of what she did, and Suphlatus didn't see the need to apologize for earning a living by waitressing in a low-cut tank top. "Nobody puts a hand on me, an' Ah've smacked th'ones who've tried," she offered proudly. She turned to Gabriel, her best 'girl-next-door' smile on her lips. "And th'girls would love you, Ah'm sure," she reassured him. "You'd jus' be guilty of monopolizin' all th'help."
If Suphlatus' aim was to get Gabriel to blush even more, she succeeded. "Nah, I doubt it. But I'd be worried about taking Felice there. He might like it too much, y'know? He's in his late thirties, or maybe early forties, but he likes the ladies. He has an awesome pinball machine, though," he said, as an afterthought. Pinball machines could solve anything.
Her eyes lit up. "Really? We got one at the restaurant, too. Pinball's pretty nifty. And y'know, you blush awful easy," she noted. "You'll either go tomato or get used t'me being all down-home and forward an' stuff, Ah'll tell ya that much." She gave him a good-natured nudge with her elbow. "Ah don't hold nothin' back."
Suphlatus flashed a grin at weasel, as if she felt the need to further justify her choice of part-time employment. "It ain't that bad, Sister Clare. Ah mean, this costume here shows just as much as what Ah wear for work."
"Well, I can't say that I particularly approve of it, but I suppose for now, it'll have to do," answered the weasel. The it that she didn't quite approve of happened to be both Suphaltus' outfit and current employment, but Claire didn't feel the need to specify.
"And, um..." Suphlatus ran a finger under the edge of the leather corset she wore. This getup was becoming the slightest bit uncomfortable, and she missed her comfier sweatpants. "How do Ah get outta this?"
Ian looked at her gravely, "You have to wear it for a week before you can change back."
"WHAT?"
"Kidding!" he said, looking at the shocked young woman in front of him.
"That wasn't a very nice thing to tell her," Claire said to Gabriel.
"What? I've gotta have some fun with this job. Just pretend that you're how you used to be. Imagine yourself wearing whatever it is that you used to be wearing, minus a bunch of the dust, and the super powers. Here, watch." Gabriel shut his eyes, and thought about what he looked like several minutes ago. His form blurred, shifted a bit like water, and then he was back in his old clothes. "And you're back to normal, or rather, I'm back to normal. Now you try."
She stuck her tongue out at Ian. "Wasn't very angelic," she teased before closing her eyes. Sweatpants, tank top, hoodie, sneakers... blonde eyebrows knit together as she imagined what she'd put on before this whole Angelus gig had started. Her form gave off a puff of brown dust, revealing Charlie in her familiar attire. She opened one eye expectantly, then grinned wildly.
"Well, ain't that just somethin'," she declared, patting down her figure. "All clean, too. Who'd've..." She paused, just as her stomach gave off an unladylike and audible growl.
"Food is good," reiterated Ian.
Charlie laughed, patting her stomach. "Ah'd hafta agree with you on that one. Forgot to eat, what with missing th'meetin' an' all. You wanna grab dinner, get t'know each other?" She instinctively liked Ian, despite the fact that he blushed too easily. "Mah treat," she coaxed, punching him lightly on the shoulder.
"Only if I get to pay next time, Miss Charlie," he said. "Claire, anyplace you'd care to go?"
"Not McDonalds," said the weasel. "I want real food."
"We all do, Claire. We all do. Just," Ian said, thinking of Charlie's earlier entrance, "no hot wings. Something tells me that Charlie sees enough of those."
She chuckled. "Ya better believe it. Pizza, maybe? That 'East of Chicago' place nearby does good food," she offered. "Leftovers means there's breakfast for t'morrow, too."
"Ha, as if I actually got up in time to have breakfast," retorted Ian. "But leftovers are always good whenever you have `em. Claire, is that okay with you?"
"I guess that will be okay," said Claire. "Pizza is edible."
Ian proffered his arm to Charlie he may be easily embarrassed, but he was also a gentleman. "Ready?"
Charlie burst out laughing, but rested her hand on his arm nonetheless. "That's gotta be th'cutest thing Ah've seen all day. Yer momma raised herself a sweetheart, didn't she?" Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she grinned up. "Now let's get goin', Ah'm hungry."
"Claire, hop into the backpa... never mind. Ride on my shoulder for now," Ian said, grinning. "You've been in that bag for too long today."
Claire scrambled up to her accustomed place, around Ian's neck. "Much better," she said, nuzzling his neck. "The bag is stuffy."
Ian grabbed his bag, and escorted Charlie out of the room. He glanced back at the study room. There was a not-so-fine layer of dust coating almost everything. Whoever was going to use this room next was in for a big surprise. Asthmatics beware Suphlatus was on the job.