thursdays_angel (
thursdays_angel) wrote in
milliways_bar2009-01-14 08:49 pm
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There is a man in a suit and trench coat standing stock still in the middle of the bar.
Castiel is perfectly at ease; arms at his sides, occasionally turning his head to observe the comings and goings around him.
Just taking everything in.
That is why he was sent here. To learn from what he finds. Learning requires observation.
Of course, he's still getting used to inhabiting a corporeal body. It may not have occurred to him yet that, standing as he is in the path of patron traffic, he might be in anyone's way.
[OOC: If you are playing a demon this evening, please ping me before tagging at IFeelLikeAJoan. Many thanks!]
[Tiny Tag: Castiel]
Castiel is perfectly at ease; arms at his sides, occasionally turning his head to observe the comings and goings around him.
Just taking everything in.
That is why he was sent here. To learn from what he finds. Learning requires observation.
Of course, he's still getting used to inhabiting a corporeal body. It may not have occurred to him yet that, standing as he is in the path of patron traffic, he might be in anyone's way.
[OOC: If you are playing a demon this evening, please ping me before tagging at IFeelLikeAJoan. Many thanks!]
[Tiny Tag: Castiel]
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"I -"
- don't have anyone
"- no." She stumbles over it, more than she almost ever normally would, but she mentally forces the question into being something she could answer, and continues, "It's not only me."
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"What's the matter?"
She's lying. He's fairly certain of that. But he is unclear as to why.
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Her voice has smoothed over, expression faded back into something blank. It's no poker face, as Elle has nothing like that; it only betrays no emotion. "But - most people aren't like me."
Most isn't everyone
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He's not certain what that says of this woman. Whether it bodes good or ill of her. Many motals with powers such as that gained or were given them by dark means.
But there are and have been others who are untouched by evil.
He is not sure where she falls.
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But she quickly clarifies, "I do that. Other people do other things."
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Not as strange as this one, perhaps. But each and every individual is gifted in their way.
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"You're really into that stuff, aren't you?"
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"Into what stuff?"
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The truth is, Elle hasn't heard talk like that since she was a very little girl.
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He raises his eyebrows.
"My Father made each of his creations special. Each one a work of art in their own right."
Each one the more precious for their individual imperfections.
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"Who... are you?"
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So she tries, "Who's your father?"
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Castiel's Father has an infinite number of names in an infinite number of tongues. But they all, at their core, mean the same thing.
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Elle doesn't know what to think of that, or even, really, what it means.
So she tries, "Sounds fun for you."
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"It is not...fun," Castiel says.
It's not horrible, either. Castiel does not think to define is existence in terms like this for the most part.
"It simply is. I am as I was created to be."
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She decides against explaining her sarcasm.
"What were you 'created to be?'"
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