mattersverymuch | o5 ɂ voice + private

Entry tags:

o5 ɂ voice + private

-- Oxford Circus. Join me.

[He starts without explanation, because the person he's addressing knows exactly who she is, and then laughs.]

Have you ever played with pigeons? Slower, messier. Rats are quicker and cleverer but have the disadvantage of short legs and no wings. Although I imagine they'd make things more interesting regardless. Rats generally do.

Would never have let that happen. That's why pigeons are second choice. You're welcome, by the way. Again. It was a lovely few days. Practically a holiday. Even though I nearly got injured.

[private: dean]

You deserved that, retroactively.

[private: castiel]

[pleasantly:] In the future, find an alternate solution.

( ooc; mornington crescent. and though he's inviting iris in specifically, he left it open so that a) people familiar could try to beat him and b) people unfamiliar could ask about it. fair warning: he knows a lot more stations than you do. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh. Altruism.

[Another dismissive shrug - a perfect mimic.]

[Yes.]

No. Practicality. Can't have a rabid mess running around where I wanna walk around without getting my face pulled off.

You could have killed me, but you didn't try.

[Which is an educated guess, because things are foggy, but.]

[Flatly:] That's not my shtick.

You went after Castiel, not me.

Altruism, then.

[Light, pleasant again.] He was in front of me when I regained consciousness.

Killing outright isn't practical. Cutting down people who could, if they chose, help you out in a situation which - you might've noticed - we were in the middle of.

So was I.

You believed I would choose to help you?

He was directly in front of me. [Argument's getting really flimsy there, buddy.]

Or you know. That whole "rabid people where you might want to walk around without getting your face pulled off" thing. So really, I expected maybe you'd help yourself.

[That is a lie, but he's not stupid enough to get laughed at for yes, wanting to help.]

Fine, don't tell me, I don't care. I've got a whole slew of other things to ask you about that isn't why magic make you go all catclaw. [Shot in the daaaaaaaaark, always creeping up on yoooooou.]

[This is actually a decent point, but the marquis is going to ignore it rather than address it. Instead he just sneers. As he does.]

Magic? [He laughs. And should keep his mouth shut, but can't quite, because he's bitter, being cut off from home.] Magic and I get along quite well.

[And then shots in the dark pay off, and Dean sits up from where he'd been slouching slightly in his desk chair. The rest of it is forgotten for the time being, pushed away while he focuses on this.]

Yeah? How's that?

Guess.

[And he's edging on feral again he's that upset, teeth bared with no pretense at a smile whatsoever. Guess. Dean never will.]

[That's not as offputting as it might otherwise be, but the hunter doesn't answer right way. Dean is quiet for a moment, considering what he knows of the Marquis, what he knows of this place.

Inherent hatred. Inmate. He raises an eyebrow.]

It's how you died.

"It"?

[He's goading now, while simultaneously demanding information. If Dean knows something that isn't true and tells anyone, the better for him. If what Dean knows is accurate - something will have to be done.]

Magic. [Why not just keep plunging ahead. It's worked for him in the past, it can work again.]

But you're not one that's been bitching about not having your powers. A practice where you come from then? Or just not something you have?

This is not a conversation. This is a transaction. You haven't met the price.

No? You don't think I get some freebie answers for getting in your way and keeping you from dying? Again?

Or is it just that what I'm asking is too much?

[No change in facial expression. At all. Which is, in its own way, a tell.]

You get one answer. Then we're even. Choose your question carefully. No clauses.

[It is, and in the moment before the Marquis defers, Dean knows it's coming; he can live with that. He also already knows what he's going to ask.]

Why did you really go after Castiel?

[There's a decent chance Dean can hear the grinding of his teeth over the feed. But he smiles, the tension in his jaw and the light edge in his voice the only indicator that he's angry.]

I don't like angels.

That makes two of us. [This Dean returns flatly, a brief flash of anger through the statement on his own behalf.

Then, even though he likely knows what the response will be, he presses anyway.]

Why not?

You would need to go first, you'll find.

[His smile's beatific, now, tension lifted. Dean's anger is a salve. The marquis is better than him; he will not be bested.]

They're dicks.

[It's okay. There's the anger again, deeply rooted, though he's able to push it away again.]

Your turn.

The same reason.

[A cop-out for a cop-out. He's not giving a legitimate answer in exchange for that.]

[Not a cop out. An over simplification.]

Some assembly required: morals not included. Operates on orders only.

Half-correct.

[No plans to say which half, obviously.]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]

[ Private : Video ]