uberboned | IC CONTACT POST

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[what] contact post

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.]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh. He- [Tense sigh.]

Let me guess. He yelled at you for twenty minutes and it was a total shit-show.

[SO DRY] How'd you guess?

Well.

Thoughts?

Why does he think you're taking the fall for me? Last I heard, Lucifer was stalking you because you're a prophet and that makes him hot and bothered.

I don't know, I mean, all I told him was the situation and that someone had to tell Lucifer. I guess he interpreted that a lot worse than it is.

It's Sam. He doesn't exactly have a hard-on for me.

Well Jesus, can you fucking blame him?

You wrote Mystery Spot. Did you happen to get it from my perspective? That wasn't all sundaes and soda pop for me.

[Pause.]

Yeah, Gabriel. I know. I don't know if you know this, but I could write a dissertation about you.

That's not really my point.

...I don't know whether that's flattering or creepy.

[LE SIGH] Then what, oh capricious one, is the point?

Ask the weirdos who sent me the visions.

[Lip bite.]

You're not drunk enough for this conversation, but sure.

What would you do if someone killed Lucifer in front of you?

I know why the kid's pissed at me, Chuck. That doesn't mean I didn't have a good reason for doing it. If he'd put two and two together, he would've figured that one out.

How many times, Gabriel? How many times would it take before you went completely batfuck insane and became just as obsessed with finding the son of a bitch and making him hurt as badly as you did?

He doesn't care if you had motivations.

Just- imagine. Lucifer. The way he used to be? Before- I don't know, before Hell? Just. Over and over and over, and you couldn't do anything about it. Seeing him die, hearing his screams and seeing the lights go out hundreds- thousands of times.

You put him in his own personal Hell. You're his Alastair. As long as he sees you that way, you gotta deal with his crazy.

[Long, long silence.

HE HATES IT WHEN PEOPLE ARE RIGHT. It sucks.

He'll be with you in a moment, he just has to sort his entire life out and repress like a boss.]

[Pause.]

Why don't you come on over?

Why not? You still owe me cotton candy vodka.

Oh, yeah. Yeah, cool. This is kind of a vodka conversation anyway, don't you think?

...Yeah, Chuck. I think.

[BAM. ANGEL IN THE HOUSE... And rifling in the gifts for the vodka.] You should know, I think Sam's on drugs... and not the usual drugs. The other kind.

[Hanging up the NV now, thanks, and gesturing at the big cabinet right over there.]

That's the bar.

[Cough.] You- you mean, uh, street drugs? Like a normal person?

That's... unexpected. [He isn't the best liar in the world. Sam totally told him.]

I knew that. [He was testing you. Hello, cabinet. Lovely to meet you- ah, there's Mr. Vodka.] Well, he's definitely not picking the meth scabs off Lucifer for a demon blood buzz.

Edited 2011-08-23 06:56 (UTC)

I- I don't even know what you're saying half the time.

But- uh, yeah. He...

Yep. [There's not the hell much you can say to that. Sam can't not be on drugs. They both saw the post. He is a Darkness tiger, indeed.]

Those are actually good odds. [He takes a swig straight from the bottle and then thrusts it at Chuck's chest. Pain is good for you, Chuck. Always.] Yeah, riding my ass was actually one of the saner things he did and that's saying something.

[Chuck takes the bottle out of- habit, really, then just sort of stares at it.]

Well, you know, by that criteria you could say that Dean's on drugs, too.

But. Man. I gotta wonder if Lucifer saw it, right?

No, Dean just doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. Sam may be the dysfunctional one, but he doesn't usually shoot off his yap that much. It harshes his manly pouting. [He plops down on a chair.]

You actually have to wonder? Wow. Didn't see that optimism coming.

Dean's plenty dysfunctional! [What is this argument.]

Well. [Drums his fingers against the still undrunk-from bottle.] He doesn't reply to everything. Man, Lucifer and Sam while high... I feel like I need a shower just thinking about it.

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