trenchcoatedly | 009 + JUDGE YOUR BROTHER

[This man is in the bar. He's got a drink. He's also got Castiel's device.]

Well, well, well. He's full of surprises, isn't he? Cas, I mean. Like the little angel that could. God only knows how he's gotten himself on a multidimensional boat.

[He looks away from the device and takes a drink, staring into the amber liquid. Then, he looks back.]

I suppose no one has an update on his plans for his murdered brother, do they? I just know it couldn't have all ended well.

Meanwhile, I'm going to take this opportunity to enjoy the finer pleasures of life.

((all responses will be from

screwinghimwould.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

doctor_j_crane

You were murdered? How?

From:

screwinghimwould

Morbid question from a stranger.

From:

doctor_j_crane

I'm curious. It effects the principles of life and death here on the barge.

From:

screwinghimwould

I was murdered by an angel's blade.

From:

doctor_j_crane

Literal angel or metaphorical angel?

From:

screwinghimwould

Literal. I'm an angel. My dear Castiel, who I seem to standing in for to my great entertainment, is also one.

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From:

surfaceshine

So it's genetic.

[This flatly from a hunter who is, for the most part, greatly unamused by this entire flood, okay.]

From:

screwinghimwould

Oh, I'm not half the Dean Winchester fanboy he is.

From:

surfaceshine

[And he just became even less amused.]

How do you know my name? And what the hell are you talking about?

From:

screwinghimwould

Dean, everyone knows your name above. Or did dear old Cassy's plot somehow scramble up your delicate mongrel brain? I guess I wouldn't put that past him anymore, but I figured he still had some standards.

From:

surfaceshine

[Dean, perhaps predictably, bristles at the condescension in this stranger's voice; it would affect him less had he not known his name without any kind of introduction, especially his last. Dean hasn't been using his last name very often.]

Everyone above where? What plot? Make some fucking sense.

From:

screwinghimwould

Dear God. You're more scrambled than eggs.

[He takes a long drink.]

You're a hunter. I'm an angel. Castiel is an angel, tentatively speaking. Angels are from heaven. Heaven is up above. Simple. Meanwhile, that reckless moron's trying to open up a box of worms to win his stupid war.

In the process, you and him stare deeply into each other's eyes before you charge, nobly, into battle.

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From:

lastmanstanding

[HEY ANGEL. HERE'S SOMEONE WHO'S...DEAD. AND WENT TO HEAVEN OR THEREABOUTS. So Angelina is kind of...staring? persay?]

Murdered Brother?

From:

screwinghimwould

Well, I can't say it's a title I prefer.

From:

strayredribbon

[Ferinc, before he was Ferinc, went through basic with one Chief Stildyne, spent years being trained in Fleet as a warrant officer-- so he's roughly Stildyne's age. He's just aged a good deal more beautifully, having the advantage of starting off pretty.]

'Angel', Cousin? That's a strange endearment for a brother.

[His accent is very much that of a melting-pot Core-worlder, like Stildyne-- blended with years now of speaking High Aznir, which sounds quite a lot like Russian.]

From:

screwinghimwould

[Balthazar studies Ferinc for a while.]

Not an endearment, ape. Actual angels. From the sky.

From:

strayredribbon

Are you?

[The insult doesn't so much as ding his calm demeanor.]

I've met servants of The Angel, but never an angel proper. I wonder what they would think of you.

[He sets his drink down and turns to study his new acquaintance more closely.]

From:

screwinghimwould

Yes. Or, I was, before I was killed. I don't know what I am now. Angels don't have souls, so we can't become ghosts or phantasms of any regular type. I suppose it's just Cas getting in over his head again. He's got a penchant for that these days..

[A pause.]

I notice we tend to disappoint. No halos or wings to show off.

From:

strayredribbon

The Angel of Destruction only prefers the bracelet and the adornment of fear, so I'm not actually so disappointed.

My name is Cousin Ferinc. [He toasts him.] I think we know different angels; it's good to meet you.