Gabe is a normal american male. Sort of. For simplicity's sake, he pretends he's a normal american male. Apple pie and baseball and key club and football and the list went on and on and on.
He didn't need rules for seven minutes in heaven. It was pretty much ingrained in every TV show, every dumb college movie. Every stupid romance novel or teen fiction that his sister pretended not to read.
He's not expecting himself to be in an actual closet, however, especially not after a rather tumultuous night at the Goodman household. Nor is he expecting a fiery redhead--pun intended--to be the one to wake him up with a rather alarming amount of clanging.
Was this what sleep felt like? A groggy head, and a cotton-like view of things for a few moments?
"You could always try hitting the door again," Comes his voice, sarcastic and bright, and Gabe flashes the other a smile. He's harmless. Really. A bland conversation starter, maybe, but Gabe is trying to sink his claws on something. Find something to mentally steady himself.
Ghosthunter + sort of ghost?
He didn't need rules for seven minutes in heaven. It was pretty much ingrained in every TV show, every dumb college movie. Every stupid romance novel or teen fiction that his sister pretended not to read.
He's not expecting himself to be in an actual closet, however, especially not after a rather tumultuous night at the Goodman household. Nor is he expecting a fiery redhead--pun intended--to be the one to wake him up with a rather alarming amount of clanging.
Was this what sleep felt like? A groggy head, and a cotton-like view of things for a few moments?
"You could always try hitting the door again," Comes his voice, sarcastic and bright, and Gabe flashes the other a smile. He's harmless. Really. A bland conversation starter, maybe, but Gabe is trying to sink his claws on something. Find something to mentally steady himself.