The fact Barnaby didn't seem put out by Gabe's rudeness was relieving. The fact he had picked up on Gabriel's slip of the tongue wasn't nearly as much, and the Archangel glanced away for a moment, trying to organise his thoughts.

Lying didn't really occur to him as a legitimate response. It was just a matter of how much he should say, and how he should say it. Once he'd asked Michael how he managed to remain in Taubolt undercover for so long without the residents discovering the truth and without actually telling a falsehood; Michael had told him it was only as simple as letting assumptions stand.

Even that, Gabriel felt, would be difficult to maintain if he was going to be here for any length of time. He wasn't a very good liar. At least here, there was more chance of the truth sliding under the radar--not all those of the blood knew about their lineage, after all, or even believed it if they did.

Finally he looked back at Barnaby with as sigh. "I meant one of my older brothers," he said, his expression a strange combination of weariness and sadness and, oddly, plain irritation. "Something like this ..." he motioned to at the buildings over the lake, "is exactly the sort of thing he would come up with. And I frustrated him greatly not too long ago."