Gabriel drank in a corner of the nightclub. The music was deafening, yet he seemed like an outsider, his head hanging groggily as though he could not care less about what was happening around him.
He was not as charming as Lucifer, nor did he possess Michael's presence, but he had a melancholy, masculine beauty. His eyes gleamed like gemstones, and there were not many men who could look good with such a big mustache.
When Deathstroke's group approached him, the former Seraph merely raised his eyelids and named his price.
"Fifty a shot, a hundred for the night. If it's a group thing, add another hundred for each extra person."
"Whoa! That's cheap." Bobo had never seen an Angel this depraved, especially one appearing in male form, and could not resist needling him. "Don't you think you could make more money with some honest skills? You used to be a Seraph."
Donna and Wally had not recognized him as an Angel. Compared to Lucifer, this Gabriel was simply too shabby.
He dressed only slightly better than a beggar, smelled like a long-haul trucker who never bathed, and his sunken eye sockets, pus-filled sores on his neck, and dense needle marks along his arms all made him look like he did not have long to live.
As for Shazam, he had stopped playing his game and was looking above the stage instead.
He was probably curious about what the DJ was doing, finding it cool that someone wore sunglasses while spinning records in the middle of the night.
"How I live in the mortal world is my business. It's none of yours! I'm trash. I deserve to be fucked by the filthiest, most disgusting mortals."
Gabriel swayed as he lifted his glass, poured the last few drops of liquor down