mattersverymuch | o5 ɂ voice + private

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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. )

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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.]

[He doesn't need to know which half; he thinks he already knows.]

But... that's only something I learned since coming here. I didn't know they were real back home until I met Castiel.

Didn't you?

[He sounds supremely uninterested. Spoilers: he's not. This is crucial information, the kind of thing that might give him ammunition on Castiel and certainly an in on something of Dean's. At this point, anything is useful.]

[Oh no you don't. Dean is a quick study even if this isn't his natural mode of operation. He smirks, and replies dryly.]

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

[One major downfall of not being at home, besides everything: no one here is afraid of him. He's used to that, used to the reputation he's built up as ruthless, and has perhaps used it as a tool too heavily in the past. Dean brings that home to him more than anyone else here.]

[He doesn't blink.]

I knew they were.

[Dean isn't the best gauge for that. He's not afraid of much even when he should be. Certainly he has little enough fear of anyone.]

I... know people who believed in them. But I'd never seen any evidence of one. Not until here.

Strange that it would come to your rescue, then.

One, it came to your rescue. Two, we'd already arranged that before we even got to looking around.

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