In Sky of Diamonds, Gabriel’s powers will be severely cut because lol gamebreaking. Since he’s worn the mask of the Trickster for so long, the powers he’s kept are all things with a running ‘prankster’ theme—things he can use to prank, perform just desserts, or in general cast himself as something other than what he is.
They’ll also cost him some energy if he overuses them. Which makes his nomming of the sweeties so important.
So, starting from the top of the ‘general angelic powers’ list, those powers he has kept and how they’ve been altered if at all:
Telekinesis. Basically to the point of being a parlour trick, things he can use to make his own life easy, spook or generally annoy people with.
Invisibility. Really just shifting himself to a ‘spiritual’ plane occupied by ghosts and reapers, etc. This is one of the ones that’ll cost him if he uses it too much.
Supernatural perception. Being able to see the ‘spiritual’ plane he can shift himself into, as well as the nature of possessed or enchanted people/objects, and so on. Hey, can’t be a Trickster if he can’t get the infos.
Telepathy/dreamwalking. Because what’s a Trickster without the inside scoop, right? Right.
Soulreading. The wiki describes a physical handling of the soul, but in canon angels can also read souls by ‘looking into a person’s eyes’ and seeing their history/emotions (Castiel does this on at least one occasion). Again, inside scoop.
Voice mimicry. This one is pretty much self-explanatory.
Special abilities, as said in the ‘special abilities’ list and on the archangel page:
Memory manipulation. Because what better way to mess with peoples’ heads? Literally? Not that it will probably work very well. Or all the time.
Reality manipulation. The ultimate smorgasbord of pranking: creating things that aren’t there to troll his victims with. This includes constructs—creating objects and ‘people’—which, while tasty and alluring, no longer have any real substance to them. He can’t create alternate realities or alternate timelines anymore, though he can create little ‘pocket’ dimensions twenty square feet large at most—and only two at any given time. Built right, they cost him nothing to maintain, even if they’re a bitch to create. Built wrong and … well. I’m sure I’ll think of something appropriately fun nasty.
City Name: Sylvester Wilton Position: I’d really like for Gabe to be made a sweeties baker. Mostly because he can’t bake. Yet. And the fact he’d have to learn amuses me.
Otherwise, in terms of the laws he’d abide by … mmm, how about ‘none’. Unless he wants to, of course, to make things easier for himself or stay under the radar. But he’d break laws in a way that doesn’t make it obvious it’s him doing the law-breaking. Mostly, he’d be interested in keeping an eye on the authorities and handing out just desserts to the occasional victim.
That said, I could see him playing ball under the right circumstances, and he’d still only do it because it’s something he wants to do.
History: Syl comes from a huge, HUGE family; fourth-oldest, with tons of little brothers and sisters. Exactly who his mother is, he has no idea, but he knows it’s the same woman as his three older brothers and not the rest. His Dad was an extremely wealthy inventor—a somewhat eccentric inventor who loved his kids, really, but still tended to treat them absent-mindedly as miniature employees.
Syl was always the least aggressive of the four eldest, the one who tried to keep the peace, who enjoyed meeting new people and playing with his younger siblings. He was good at remembering and delivering messages, so he was the one Dad sent out to make contacts, deliver inventions, so on and so forth.
That was before the big blow-up. Dad came home with another kid and one of Syl’s older brothers exploded. There was this big fuss, all arguing—Syl’s oldest brother was all for obeying Dad, his second-oldest all for thumbing their nose at the old man, and the whole family got caught in-between. Eventually the second-eldest son stormed out and took a whole bunch of sibs with them.
No one was really the same after that. Syl hated that his brothers were fighting, that so many of them had left, that his biggest bro did nothing but brood all day and left him to take care of the young ’uns. Even Dad seemed melancholy, and that kind of just infected everyone. Syl tried to cheer everyone up by playing jokes, but it didn’t really work, and eventually Syl just contented himself with pranking his remaining big brothers, which kind of made him feel better.
Then one day Syl just left, tired of all the bitterness and melancholy and everyone doing absolutely nothing. He’d always been good at travelling, so he hit the road and never looked back. He loved sweet-things and the looks on his sibs’ faces when he baked them, so he went to school and studied food. He became a chef. Had a few flings.
He’d just left school when he met the girl who cheated in him and the dick she cheated on him with. And that really made him mad. He had no one, no family left, and when he found someone she turned on him.
The police found them tied naked to the flagpole the next morning, and Syl was already miles away.
After that things kind of gathered momentum. Syl never stayed in one place long, but he sold heavenly baked goods while he was there and searched out anyone he could conceivably punish as an outlet for his bitterness, shame and anger over the way his family had fallen apart. He hid it all under the mask of a joker, and pretended everything was a-okay and he wasn’t missing his family at all.
There were a couple of guys, though. Brothers. He ran into them a couple of times, by chance, while he was passing out just desserts and they got in the way. Well, okay, the second time was deliberate. The third time they were with one of his younger brothers, who told him that their older brothers had been passing messages and casting aspersions all over again—gearing up for a major knock-down because Daddy had up and vanished from the company.
Syl ran from them, far and fast—from those idiots his brother was hanging around with, from his brother, from his past. He found himself in Diamond City.
And he tried to hide, all the while telling himself there wasn’t anything he could possibly do.
Proof: His chef’s certificate. Hey, he totally went to school for it, okay?
Third-person sample: This was really ridiculous. No, really. He was an archangel, for Dad’s sake. An almighty—okay, almost almighty—being with power over half the cosmos, and … and …
And he was currently jammed in the back of an Impala he was pretty sure Dean wasn’t cleaning nearly as well as he would have claimed to. Unless it was Sam who’d thrown that wrapped on the floor there, stuffed under the seat. It was possible. Sure, the younger Winchester preferred rabbit food, but the wrapped didn’t necessarily belong to a burger.
Gabriel eyed it dubiously, ducked his head to see it better as if that would help him figure out just what, exactly, it was a wrapper to, and then shrugged and lifted his head again to eye the doors to the Elysian Fields.
There was definitely something going on in there. He could hear the bangings and the sound of voices. Maybe the chuckleheads had actually managed to talk the gods into something after all. Well, good. Maybe then they’d all get out alive. It would just figure that Kali would be all gung-ho over this ‘end of the world’ thing; women, really. Couldn’t live without ’em.
Okay, okay, I have a soft spot, he grumbled to himself. Kali had filled in some of the loneliness, way back when. He was allowed to have soft spots. He was entitled.
Even though his current, and longest-lasting, soft spots would equal the destruction of the world.
It’s a brother thing, he consoled himself. You don’t turn on your brothers. If I did that I wouldn’t be any better than Lucifer.
You love Lucifer, remember? Some other part of him pointed out sardonically. You know, your beloved big bro who’s trying to kill everything?
Oh, this sucked. Every since he’d met the Winchesters he’d been having this kind of monologue. Do this, don’t do that, risk your life here—it was driving him nuts. Since when did an angel’s mind not belong to himself, he asked you!
There came a louder crash from inside and the doors shot open, banged against the walls and stuck before they rebounded. Gabriel regarded the people streaming out with faint surprise; weren’t they the gods’ snacks? Well, then. Turned out the meatheads were able to do something after all. He spotted Dean in the crowd and lifted his head to pst the man.
I’m just doing this for Kali, he promised himself. I’m not getting involved. There’s a prophecy that’s got to be fulfilled, here, and then it’ll all be over.
Yes, and what’s going to happen to Kali if either of your big brothers win? asked that quiet, sardonic voice. Or humanity? You know what’s going to happen to humanity, even if Michael’s the one left standing. You like humanity, Gabe. They invented chocolate pudding. They invented every single position as described in the Kama Sutra. They invented loyalty. Come on and look at those meatheads, and tell me any of your brothers have been as loyal.
Well, there’s Cassy …
And whose side is he on again?
Gabriel ignored the way his chest clenched as Dean came around to slide into the car so they could talk, so that hypocritical little dick could accuse him of cowardice all over again.
He couldn’t ignore the whisper of that soft voice.
Did you read the rules? Go fish. By which I mean ‘yes’.
Gabriel | Supernatural | 2/2
In Sky of Diamonds, Gabriel’s powers will be severely cut because lol gamebreaking. Since he’s worn the mask of the Trickster for so long, the powers he’s kept are all things with a running ‘prankster’ theme—things he can use to prank, perform just desserts, or in general cast himself as something other than what he is.
They’ll also cost him some energy if he overuses them. Which makes his nomming of the sweeties so important.
So, starting from the top of the ‘general angelic powers’ list, those powers he has kept and how they’ve been altered if at all:
Special abilities, as said in the ‘special abilities’ list and on the archangel page:
funnasty.City
Name: Sylvester Wilton
Position: I’d really like for Gabe to be made a sweeties baker. Mostly because he can’t bake. Yet. And the fact he’d have to learn amuses me.
Otherwise, in terms of the laws he’d abide by … mmm, how about ‘none’. Unless he wants to, of course, to make things easier for himself or stay under the radar. But he’d break laws in a way that doesn’t make it obvious it’s him doing the law-breaking. Mostly, he’d be interested in keeping an eye on the authorities and handing out just desserts to the occasional victim.
That said, I could see him playing ball under the right circumstances, and he’d still only do it because it’s something he wants to do.
History: Syl comes from a huge, HUGE family; fourth-oldest, with tons of little brothers and sisters. Exactly who his mother is, he has no idea, but he knows it’s the same woman as his three older brothers and not the rest. His Dad was an extremely wealthy inventor—a somewhat eccentric inventor who loved his kids, really, but still tended to treat them absent-mindedly as miniature employees.
Syl was always the least aggressive of the four eldest, the one who tried to keep the peace, who enjoyed meeting new people and playing with his younger siblings. He was good at remembering and delivering messages, so he was the one Dad sent out to make contacts, deliver inventions, so on and so forth.
That was before the big blow-up. Dad came home with another kid and one of Syl’s older brothers exploded. There was this big fuss, all arguing—Syl’s oldest brother was all for obeying Dad, his second-oldest all for thumbing their nose at the old man, and the whole family got caught in-between. Eventually the second-eldest son stormed out and took a whole bunch of sibs with them.
No one was really the same after that. Syl hated that his brothers were fighting, that so many of them had left, that his biggest bro did nothing but brood all day and left him to take care of the young ’uns. Even Dad seemed melancholy, and that kind of just infected everyone. Syl tried to cheer everyone up by playing jokes, but it didn’t really work, and eventually Syl just contented himself with pranking his remaining big brothers, which kind of made him feel better.
Then one day Syl just left, tired of all the bitterness and melancholy and everyone doing absolutely nothing. He’d always been good at travelling, so he hit the road and never looked back. He loved sweet-things and the looks on his sibs’ faces when he baked them, so he went to school and studied food. He became a chef. Had a few flings.
He’d just left school when he met the girl who cheated in him and the dick she cheated on him with. And that really made him mad. He had no one, no family left, and when he found someone she turned on him.
The police found them tied naked to the flagpole the next morning, and Syl was already miles away.
After that things kind of gathered momentum. Syl never stayed in one place long, but he sold heavenly baked goods while he was there and searched out anyone he could conceivably punish as an outlet for his bitterness, shame and anger over the way his family had fallen apart. He hid it all under the mask of a joker, and pretended everything was a-okay and he wasn’t missing his family at all.
There were a couple of guys, though. Brothers. He ran into them a couple of times, by chance, while he was passing out just desserts and they got in the way. Well, okay, the second time was deliberate. The third time they were with one of his younger brothers, who told him that their older brothers had been passing messages and casting aspersions all over again—gearing up for a major knock-down because Daddy had up and vanished from the company.
Syl ran from them, far and fast—from those idiots his brother was hanging around with, from his brother, from his past. He found himself in Diamond City.
And he tried to hide, all the while telling himself there wasn’t anything he could possibly do.
Proof: His chef’s certificate. Hey, he totally went to school for it, okay?
Playing
First-person sample: dear_mun thread!
Third-person sample: This was really ridiculous. No, really. He was an archangel, for Dad’s sake. An almighty—okay, almost almighty—being with power over half the cosmos, and … and …
And he was currently jammed in the back of an Impala he was pretty sure Dean wasn’t cleaning nearly as well as he would have claimed to. Unless it was Sam who’d thrown that wrapped on the floor there, stuffed under the seat. It was possible. Sure, the younger Winchester preferred rabbit food, but the wrapped didn’t necessarily belong to a burger.
Gabriel eyed it dubiously, ducked his head to see it better as if that would help him figure out just what, exactly, it was a wrapper to, and then shrugged and lifted his head again to eye the doors to the Elysian Fields.
There was definitely something going on in there. He could hear the bangings and the sound of voices. Maybe the chuckleheads had actually managed to talk the gods into something after all. Well, good. Maybe then they’d all get out alive. It would just figure that Kali would be all gung-ho over this ‘end of the world’ thing; women, really. Couldn’t live without ’em.
Okay, okay, I have a soft spot, he grumbled to himself. Kali had filled in some of the loneliness, way back when. He was allowed to have soft spots. He was entitled.
Even though his current, and longest-lasting, soft spots would equal the destruction of the world.
It’s a brother thing, he consoled himself. You don’t turn on your brothers. If I did that I wouldn’t be any better than Lucifer.
You love Lucifer, remember? Some other part of him pointed out sardonically. You know, your beloved big bro who’s trying to kill everything?
Oh, this sucked. Every since he’d met the Winchesters he’d been having this kind of monologue. Do this, don’t do that, risk your life here—it was driving him nuts. Since when did an angel’s mind not belong to himself, he asked you!
There came a louder crash from inside and the doors shot open, banged against the walls and stuck before they rebounded. Gabriel regarded the people streaming out with faint surprise; weren’t they the gods’ snacks? Well, then. Turned out the meatheads were able to do something after all. He spotted Dean in the crowd and lifted his head to pst the man.
I’m just doing this for Kali, he promised himself. I’m not getting involved. There’s a prophecy that’s got to be fulfilled, here, and then it’ll all be over.
Yes, and what’s going to happen to Kali if either of your big brothers win? asked that quiet, sardonic voice. Or humanity? You know what’s going to happen to humanity, even if Michael’s the one left standing. You like humanity, Gabe. They invented chocolate pudding. They invented every single position as described in the Kama Sutra. They invented loyalty. Come on and look at those meatheads, and tell me any of your brothers have been as loyal.
Well, there’s Cassy …
And whose side is he on again?
Gabriel ignored the way his chest clenched as Dean came around to slide into the car so they could talk, so that hypocritical little dick could accuse him of cowardice all over again.
He couldn’t ignore the whisper of that soft voice.
Did you read the rules? Go fish. By which I mean ‘yes’.