IC CONTACT POST

[uberboned]

[A woman's voice comes over the line.]

You've reached the Trickster's voicemail. Unfortunately, Mr. Trickster isn't available to take your call, nor will he likely ever be. Should you still wish to leave a message, please respond after the tone, and maybe we'll remember to get it to him, mmkay?

[Beep]

[[OOC: This is an IC voicemail post for all verses games. Please put the name of the verse/game you want in the subject heading.]]

Comments

voice;

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

They're both in desperate need of help. What's your point? [He spreads his arms and finally reaches over to grab the alcohol from Chuck. Well. Waste not, want not. His sense of relaxation has been waylaid.]

It oughta worry anyone. If Sam's melon's on the fritz, he'd probably say yes to Lucifer giving him a happy ending, much less to consenting to being his vessel.

[paterelohim]

[Cringe.]

Thanks. Thanks for that. I feel enriched.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Considering Sam keeps thinking I threw you under Lucifer's station wagon, it's about time you got that way on this subject. It's bad, Chuck. Really bad.

[paterelohim]

Couldn't we have this conversation without talking about Lucifer and dicks, though? Come on. I'm still traumatized. [Sob making deals. ._. ]

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

No, it's my way of telling you that you're a moron for letting Lucifer suck face with you.

[paterelohim]

Speak English next time.

[Sinking a little lower into his wheelchair.]

I still don't regret it.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

You're not the one getting blamed for it. I regret it, just because Sam won't stop riding my ass about it and it's starting to chafe.

[paterelohim]

[The driest. look.]

I feel so bad for you.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

What? You made your bed. No one asked you to intervene. Not that I don't appreciate it, but when it gets written down as my fault in the Winchester Gospel because of your ghost writers? That's when I'm gonna get pissed.

[paterelohim]

But if I hadn't, Jinx would be dead. I saved half the the city from an archangel slapfight, so- whatever. Sam can bite me. He's never gonna like you, no matter what.

Since when do you care so much about reputation?

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

I don't care about reputation. I care about not getting stabbed or worse, because Sam went off the deep end. He's friends with Jinx, Chuck. And you know that kid ain't well.

[paterelohim]

I can manage the Winchesters better than you think.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Winchester. Singular. If Dean were here, Sam wouldn't be a problem.

[paterelohim]

Yeah, I know.

Gabriel, I know enough about Sam to psych him out pretty easily. If you can keep from antagonizing him when he's sober enough to remember it, then you'll be... fine.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

It's not me I'm worried about.

[paterelohim]

Sam won't need much convincing to lay off of a kid that everyone thinks is a monster through no fault of its own. Trust me. That'll do you for a good five months, right? Yeah, and as for her- look, all someone has to do is put it in terms he'll understand. If framed like that, then hurting her wouldn't really be an option.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[Sigh] You're the prophet.

[paterelohim]

Yep.

Now- that's a bunch of my vodka that you're not drinking. So... [So make an honest drink out of it or give it back. :( ]

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[Gabriel stares at it, takes a swig and then tosses it over.] Protip? Invest in schnapps.

[paterelohim]

[Catching it easily and taking the smallest sip.]

I used to just steal them, but now? I mean, vodka's more efficient.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

And tastes like peppermint lighter fluid.

[paterelohim]

Pansy.

I think there are some sour apple schnappes in the fridge, and Hpnotiq in the freezer. That's fruity enough for you, right?

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Your BAC is more alcohol than blood, Hemingway. [Which is to say that Gabriel will be finding the sour apple schnapps with... Something that vaguely resembles gratitude.]

[paterelohim]

Hemingway? That's a compliment. Drop the M-bomb and I think we'd have a problem.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Please. Stephanie Meyer hasn't drank herself to death... Yet.