The Metatron cursed, fully aware that he had indeed spent too long talking to Aziraphale. It had been an indescribably awful feeling, and he'd known the second that God had noticed his location. With his luck, they'd probably banish him for being so un-angelic. Great.
But really, the Metatron didn't have many options at this point. Maybe he could live as a fugitive angel? He considered this for about 5 seconds before snorting derisively. Yeah, like that was going to work. He may as well just go back and get yelled at by people if that was the alternative.
It was strange, in some ways. Gabriel had always told the Metatron that he would fall for being so flippantly blasphemous, but it had always been a joke, every time. Now it was starting to look like a highly likely reality. The Metatron had an uneasy, queasy kind of feeling in his stomach. Was it possible for angels to throw up? He didn't think so, but there were always first times. The Metatron hoped that this wasn't one of them. He didn't particularly like the concept of throwing up.
The Metatron sighed, wondering if he should bother gathering enough energy to beat his head senselessly against the ground. He eventually decided he couldn't really be bothered, so continued to lie on the ground and stare up at the sky aimlessly. Apathy created a sort of warm, fuzzy feeling. It was nice, in a way. A very weird, twisted kind of way, but still.
It was times like this the Metatron began to understand why humans might take drugs, and drink alcohol, and things like that. He was feeling very relaxed and, well, hopeless to tell the truth, but it would have been interesting if there were psychedelic shiny swirly things to top it off. The Metatron liked psychedelic shiny swirly things. They made his brain feel funny.
The Metatron started giggling at that, for no apparent reason. Being upset was draining; now he had no choice but to be his normal sunny self. It was too much effort to remember why he had gotten mad, too much effort to remain so, so instead he'd just go somewhat- trippy. He could be weird like that sometimes.
The Metatron was smiling dreamily, contemplating what a pretty blue colour the sky was. He didn't really know why he was acting so vague, but he didn't really care, either. It was probably shock.
'Metatron?' God's mental voice was a bit faint and distant sounding, but it was there, none-the-less.
The Metatron blinked and giggled again. 'Woo. Shibby. There are voices in my head.'
There was a long silence in the Metatron's mind. 'Metatron, are you feeling alright?' God sounded slightly disturbed.
Metatron closed his eyes. 'Never felt better. Everything is pretty, and happy, and groovy.'
The next thing the Metatron heard was Gabriel's mental voice. 'Met, are you sure you're ok? You sound a bit… out of it.'
'Nah, it's all good, and funky, and cool. And stuff.'
There was another long silence. Somewhere in a small, isolated part of his brain where he was still sane and himself, the Metatron started laughing hysterically. This was weirdly amusing. God and Gabriel sounded so freaked out. Of course, this was perfectly normal. The Metatron was in shock, and detached and was starting to sound like-
'Met, you sound like you're a hippie on drugs.' Gabriel answered finally.
'Drugs? What drugs? I know of no drugs,' the Metatron responded woozily. Hang on. This wasn't good; he was starting to get dizzy.
'Met?' Gabriel was sounding a bit anxious. The Metatron was going to think something in return, but before he could, the numbness started to wear off. The Metatron's eyes widened, and he accidentally skipped a breath. Reality came crashing back down, and before he knew it, the Metatron had blacked out. The last thing he heard was the alarmed cries of God and Gabriel. Needless to say, he was still in shock.
