uberboned | IC CONTACT POST

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IC CONTACT POST

[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.]]

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[He nods.]

... Slowing it down's fine with me. Honestly, I'm not thinking of home right now. I just want to keep it down here — last thing they need trying to get out or even just trying to get through the months is someone hacking up blood and causing extra trouble on the side.

[Don't expect too much self-respect, okay, he's a Winchester. He just wants to not be in the way.

Dean wants to fix it, and Sam knows he'll do what he can... but Sam's not holding his breath. Maybe Sam just won't get his happy end. Maybe he's royally fucked. And Sam, for all his hope and belief that there's something good beyond the muck, is practical.

He might die. It hurts too much to pretend there's a 100% sure-fire way to fix it.]

If you can't, that's that. If you don't want to bother, fine by me.

[It's just a request. Sam's not so dim as to think an angel would automatically help him. Most just fuck him over, with the exception of Balthazar. Funnily enough. But even then, he was soulless, so... no, he's not even gonna count it.]

Up to you, really.

Oh, don't give me the "I don't wanna be a burden crap." You'll make me gag. [Gabriel rolls his eyes, but it's all for show- sarcasm and all. Tigers don't change their stripes and Winchesters eat martyrdom for breakfast. He didn't corner the market on that. Those boys practically had a trailer park full of crosses they could climb up on.]

I'll try. [He couldn't fix Castiel, but there wasn't a lot there to fix without making him different again. This is something else.

He rolls up the sleeves of his jacket- also for show.] Are you still attached to those sigils on your ribs?

Yeah, yeah, I get it.

[You and your dumb sarcasm. There are too many people in his life that thrive off it.]

I can always get the sigils replaced later.

[He eyes Gabriel's sleeves, thoroughly frowning, brow quirked.]

... You're not soul-fisting my gut, are you? Because I was hoping that'd be a one-time deal.

Okay, first of all? I don't like you like that. [He flicks his wrist and wiggles his fingers. There is absolutely no reason for any of this, but he's glad it's tweaking Sam out.] Second of all, you might wanna hold off on the replacements. On the plus side, the only angels here don't actually wanna kill you and if there were angels who wanted to kill you, it ain't that big a town.

So you're golden. [He cracks his knuckles over his head and steps forward into Sam's space.] The nice thing to do is to tell you it's gonna hurt and you should brace yourself, but, uh-

[He doesn't finish that sentence before he shoots out a hand to land it palm down on Sam's chest. There's a horrible sensation of something scraping Sam's ribs as the old sigils are wiped clean, replaced by a new set. This one a lot stronger. It's not a cure- that much is obvious, but it does help.]

Hoo boy. I haven't done that in ages. [Gabriel shakes out his hand as he steps back.] We used to give that to prophets to slow down the visions and keep them from burning out too fast. It ain't much, but it's the best idea I got.

[Wow it's been a while since an angel scraped at his insides like that, thanks. He hunkers up with his arm against his chest and a hand propped on a knee, breathing in deep through gritted teeth. Wow, ow, ow. That is tender. That is really tender. Hoooo. Annoyed, from under a wave of brown hair:]

I'm guessing you mean literal ages.

Look, if you wanted art, you could go to Castiel, but he doesn't know that spell. [Or can't perform it like an archangel can, anyway. Castiel's such a nerd he probably knows everything about warding. Gabriel sort of... skipped those lessons.] Don't be such a bitch about it.

Work on your people skills when you graffiti their ribs. [He huffs, managing not to be a Sam Taco there hunched over. Flicks his chin to get his too-long hair back out of his face.] ... Thanks. Guess I might owe you, if this works out.

[What a horrifying thought, he thinks.]

You tossed pixie dust at my face, Gigantor. We're not square yet. [HE NEVER FORGETS AND HE NEVER FORGIVES.]

You guess? You owe me big time. I've got no reason to do you muttonheads any favors.

[But he did it with... only minimal protest. Castiel's starting to rub off on him or else dying for humanity made him soft.]

Sorry about that? It was a bad day.

[If it's any consolation, you made it 400x better with just the look on your face. :)]

Besides, you were kinda deserving it for the whole television land thing. You hit me in the jewels and everything.

But yeah. Fine. I'm sure I can figure out a way to pay you back.

[And if anything, Sam always keeps his word; he'll pay you back somehow. In a sincere way, even, since he's the mushy Winchester who actually does stupid sentimental or nice things. Whatever. He likes being the softy. >:^|]

[S-stop it, senpai. You're making him go all weird. It's like Sabriel is happening over here or something.

Gabriel frysquints to see if there's some ulterior motive here, but there's not and he knows it. He can dislike Sam and Dean all he wants- or pretend to- but they're not nearly as bad as he says they are. They're paragons of humanity- they screw up a lot, but God how they try.]

Yeah, yeah. I thought the Herpexia was better, but, hey, whatever works for you. [Or makes you miserable. He pauses, awkwardly, and then scoffs and turns to go.] Good luck not... vomiting out your own soul, bucko.

[So much Sabriel I just can't stand it. ///

Sam tucks his hands into his pockets and nods, half unsure and half humored, the dog sitting next to him like an animal-shaped shadow.]

Thanks. I'll try not to.

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