"Then question is--would you?" Gabriel returned as impishly as he could manage. It was hard to get inflections across when he couldn't bear to raise his voice above a certain level, but somehow the archangel managed. "You're not exactly responsible, bro." To put it lightly. Balthazar was probably among the least responsible of the angels. There was something to envy about that, really.

Gingerly the archangel lifted his head off his knees, keeping the cloth pressed to his face. It had dried again, was growing warm, and the ache in his head had dulled somewhat. He peeled one corner away experimentally, shading his face from the sun. It was bright, it made his temples throb and eyes water in complaint, but he actually managed to achieve some measure of squinted opening.

Briefly. Then he hissed and covered up again, groping for his water container to dampen the cloth again. "Anyone figured out how to get across yet?"