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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[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.

It saved you from a messy death. Your rescue. [Pride. It's a thing.]

Why you would work together with a creature you never used to believe in, I can't imagine.

[Have a very loud eyeroll, Marquis.]

Because the key word is used to. I can get prissy about it now, but there's still a goddamn angel in my face, and he can still get rid of rabies like ET heals idiotstick kids.

[And because whatever else he is, Dean is nothing if not practical in a crisis.]

Interesting that you trust him.

Interesting that you think I do.

You let him help you.

So did you.

No, I didn't.

[Another crack in the armor. His shoulders are tense.]

[Hm. Interesting. Dean doesn't respond immediately - he's a stubborn fucker, but he's the least stubborn in the family and he knows where going toe to toe with it will get him. Nowhere.

And so:]

What's it gonna cost me to get a straight answer about why you sleep less than a runway model eats?

More than you can afford.

[More or less what he expected; while they're pointedly not at each other's throats, though, he might as well keep pressing.

That and it is its own show of strength to lay cards on the table, even if they're currently upside down.]

And what's with the sewer?

[Well, that's not a secret at all, and he has no qualms being honest about it.]

It's my home.

[It's the fact that Dean gets an answer at all that is more telling than the answer itself; it draws him up short, so short that he doesn't even have a ready joke for it.]

That's... why?

Because it's where I live.

[Very patiently and slowly, as if talking to an extremely stupid child.]

[And in return, very slowly and clearly:] People don't live in sewers without a reason.

[Then back to his normal voice - it's not that he's even being judgmental, necessarily, right now. He lives in a car. For a reason. People live in houses for a reason.]

Is it safer for some reason?

It's where I live.

[He's not being coy this time. That's as simply as he can put it. The reason that he lives in London Below is because he lives in London Below. He has for so long.]

[But for some reason he can't put his finger on, he pauses for a moment and tilts his head, watching Dean like he's trying to get his temperature through the screen. Then he nods.]

Sewer is an oversimplification, of course. But then, it's you, so I'm hardly surprised.

Well gee, I'm sorry, I'll poke around a bit more thoroughly next time before making sure you aren't being horribly murdered or murdering someone horribly.

[This flippant, no real heat to it and not at all apologetic because he saw that look and the followup is unprompted; conversations with the Marquis are exhausting, but rarely worthless. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a frown, but thinking about it.]

Then what? Is the topside of your world damaged somehow? Or... was that a subway? [He's visibly trying to recall what few details he'd seen; he trusts his eyes, no matter how impossible what they tell him is. It's saved his life enough times that he's okay with occasionally missing the mark completely.]

[The marquis has not spoken of Below to anyone since he got here months ago. No one but Iris, who talks in circles as much as he does; despite her efforts to be human, she never will be, and he enjoys that about her.]

[But here, now, something unexpected happens. He finds himself smiling.]

[It's not specific enough to say he misses home. He misses his life. He misses power, he misses cruelty, he misses superiority.]

[But he misses the tunnels, too, and magic sparking at his fingertips, and the London-ness of it all.]

It was a subway.

[It's silent permission. Go on. Ask. He may even answer; he can't say just yet, as this is not a mood he's familiar with.]

[...this keeps happening. Dean won't be the one that questions it, of course, and he's not going to overthink it, not until he senses the trap closing. Problem is he always has that sense about the Marquis, and maybe it's dulling his instincts some.

So he keeps an eye on that smile and, silent permission acknowledged as silently, pushes ahead with the vague but ultimately distant hope that this isn't the weightplate instead of a small break in otherwise staunch defenses.]

Was?

Is.

[He watches Dean, just as sure that the trap is closing on him as Dean is of the marquis's intentions. But now, he's curious. Of all the dangerous things Dean could find out, the true nature of his home is very low on the danger scale; it's a good test. On some level, too, the marquis wants to brag. Who he was, what he was, is intrinsically tied into where he was, and he wants to relive that.]

[But he also misses it. He's surprised to discover this, though it doesn't show on his face. There's been no question that he's wanted to go home all this time, but - this is different. More acute.]

[His home is the underside of a city. He rules it, in his way, and now - well, now he's nowhere. And he misses London under his nails.]

And more.

More how?

[Given the chance, Dean might understand that, too. He's the ruler of nothing outside of his car, the world won't have him willingly in it, but he works to protect it anyway. The entire country is his, the people in it his, his job clearcut and necessary and his; he wouldn't have chosen the life he has, not for himself and not for his family, but now that it's his, well.

It's his.]

And why would you live there? Quick exit? Chokepoint?

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