Was Gabriel supposed to know V1 got a new rocket launcher variant? No. Of course not. He's an angel! He's busy! He's got no time to keep tabs on a machine running rampant in the layers of Hell!

But he certainly knows now.

When V1 walked in with the Firestarter, he assumed they just adjusted the color of its Rocket Launcher, something he's all too familiar with (the absolute guffaw that came with watching V1 fly just like he could is something that would've torn apart his whole reputation as a Supreme Angel). He thought he could handle it, he was experienced with facing it - right?

Oh, how he was so terribly wrong.

In a blur of blinding hues, he was covered in oil and then set on fire in the next nanosecond. And it went downhill from there.

He came back to you, covered in grease and oil - the pigmentation of red almost barely seeping through the plates of his armor as he struggles to restrain his own anger. You stifled a small laugh, knowing he'd look down at you as if he'd tear you apart into nothing but the very air that Hell breathes.

You wipe his armor with a cloth, the tar seeping into it before smudging further into Gabriel's armor as he lets out an annoyed huff before you throw the wet cloth into a building pile of itself - mounds of fabric slowly forming a heap of greasy tissue. It seems like no matter how much or hard you wipe, it simply spreads further on his body, droplets falling to the ground around him - tainting you and the floor; although, it did make the gold in his armor shine better.

He groans in frustration, swatting your hand away with a plated hand as he reaches down to his kilt and rips a strip of it off to wipe himself.

"You're taking too long," He mutters, excessively wiping all over his body, efforts still futile. "You're making it worse." He huffs in annoyance, but he still let you touch him as you resumed trying to get all the black oil off. He rips another piece of his kilt off, wiping himself again.

God, he hates V1's new gun.