[I'm going to assume Gabe's disco is gone, thanks to Az. Or Dean got bored and made it go away. Or Gabe is actually recording this from a maintenance hallway where he has taken up residence to live forever as a hobo. Whatever.]

I don't wanna be the guy pulling the divine retribution card here, but I wasn't here for the whole "Davros situation" and all I know is that he's some crazy guy in a wheelchair who... Likes genocide or something. This is all hearsay. Whatever. Don't actually care for the gory details. All I know is that half of everyone's afraid of him, the other half thinks that half is stupid, and a good portion of people here just wanna kick over the little son of a bitch's wheelchair. And he's a dick.

But, uh, guys? You have two, count 'em- two angels on this boat, on top of whatever else is lurking, so what's the big deal? If he tries anything shifty until some poor sap gets shackled to him, we got it covered. Ain't nothing we can't handle. Really. I promise. Return to your lives as normal, citizens.

[Private to Irene.]

Don't poke the crazy guy in the wheelchair. Or I'll find you. And you'll hate it.

Hey, Barge. Did you hear? It's been quiet. Too quiet.

I just thought you all should know that, 'cause I'm sure if someone doesn't say it every ten seconds, it'll lose its effect or something.

[Private to Irene]

Congratulations, princess! You've won a free lesson in humility! I'm sure you're wondering what that means. Well, I'm gonna tell you, but first I gotta ask you one simple question.

How do you feel about food service?

Please note that your answer will not actually affect my decision.

Oh. Hah hah hah. Very funny, Admiral. You're a real barrel of laughs. 

IRENE ADLER. Guess who gets to be your Warden? Yep. It's me, precious, and don't pretend for a second that this is gonna be some kind of pleasure cruise, 'cause it ain't. And since we already know each other, how 'bout I give you a twenty minute warning before I come down there to discuss this file I'm holding in my hands right now. 

Time starts... Now. 

[Transmission clicks on mid-rant,  because he meant to turn the damn thing on, but got distracted by a wayward Cupid. Those little things are pesky. :|]

-little sparkly freak. Annnd the light's blinking. For those of you watching at home, I didn't dropkick Cupid, but I'm about ten seconds from it. You think that would offend the locals? ....I wonder what they do to criminals in this town. I'm not really seeing this as being the hang 'em high kinda place. Unless the nooses are made of licorace or something. Geez. It's like the Valentine's section at a department store exploded. Or we docked in a Disney movie and, by the way? If anyone breaks into song, I'm... No, I'm actually probably gonna laugh and consider the Admiral worthy of my undying respect. 

Also, I'm offended at this place's complete disregard for anything other than traditional couples. If this is the love port, you'd think there'd be a lot more orgies. Woodstock was better at free love than this joint and a heckuva lot less cheesy. C'mon.

Anyway. Maxxie, Rubes, Deano, JD, John-Boy, Ringo... Whoever else is out there bored out of their skulls and wandering listlessly around this joint with nothing to do... As soon as I take care of some business in the casino, I'm parking it at the bar and am not moving an inch until we leave. Wild horses covered in pink flowers will not drag me from that place, but hot local girls might. 

[OOC: And by "take care of something in the casino," he means "harrass the patrons." A LOT OF GAMBLERS ARE DICKS, OKAY? Feel free to spam, comment, do whatever you want. He has a date with Max and Ruby (not simultaneously), at some point, and a make-out session with Irene, but I'm still all open for plotting if anyone wants it. I am flexible like that.]

[The audio link clicks on and the Barge gets treated to THIS. Don't make the mistake of assuming this means Gabe is a cultured, immature son of a bitch. He probably only knows it as the Alcoholic's Anonymous theme song. Eventually, Gabe starts talking over it.]

So, apparently, the first step to eternal life is you have to die. Great mantra here, guys, considering you're already dead, but whatever. And if anyone asks you if you know Tyler Durden, just say no.

That said, I don't do rigorous structure and I'm chompin' at the bit to put half of you in fun situations you don't wanna be in and probably won't find nearly as fun as I will, but I'm resisting, 'cause I occasionally use this little thing called restraint. Look it up. Some of you need better dictionaries. Do I need to start a five step program here? 'Cause I gotta tell you, one of those steps is "make amends," not "make a mess of the mens." Glad I could clear that up for you. You're welcome.

That said, if any of you putzes start fight clubbing it up anywhere near my level, I'm gonna forget that I'm actively Not Involved in this bullshit and happily put you through a wall and leave your Wardens to deal with your bruised asses. Just a tip.

And yes, JD is with me. And no, I'm not corrupting his delicate youthful sensibilities. Geez.

[OOC: Gabe's pretty much had it with you people and due to the fact that his KNEEJERK reaction to this kind of thing is to start dishing out just desserts all around and that would exacerbate the situation and he's fully capable of REALIZING that, since he can't just run off and leave the chaos to someone else, he's mostly staying in his room and being agitated. But yeah, if anyone causes problems near his level, REST ASSURED THERE WILL BE ONE PISSED-OFF ARCHANGEL GUNNING FOR YOUR COLLARBONES. This is not even the kind of chaos he likes, dudes.]

[While the Winchesters are away, the Tricksters will play, apparently. THE BARGE HAS TIMING. :| Hope your ears love the sultry sound of loud-mouthed demigods/archangels with slight southern drawls, residents of the Barge, because that's what you're getting. And there is nothing in the tone of this that does not scream SNARK.]

GOOD MORNIN', VIET-NAM.

Or afternoon. Or, for all I know, half-past midnight. I don't believe in clocks. Anyway. 

Hi! I'm the newest sherrif on this Love Boat. One of you lucky sons of bitches will eventually be mine to mold into whatever amounts to a productive, functional member of society. Lucky you! For the rest of you, juuust get used to the sound of this voice, kids, 'cause you're gonna be hearing a lot of it. 

I could go on, tell you all a few things about me, and we can all have a nice, little sharing circle, buuuut I'm not that kinda guy. Sorry. A man's gotta have a little mystery about him. In this case, a lot. 

But, hey, I'm here for all you losers. That's the deal I made and I live up to my deals. Think of me as your own personal pagan deity. So if you really need and/or want me, look me up sometime. It's Trickster, comma, the. Thank you and good night. 

All's quiet on Chicago streets. There's snow on the ground, ice clinging to places where the salt trucks can't get to, and at this hour most people are in bed like any sane person should be.

Sane is relative in Chicago, of course.

In front of the Empress Theater, a Rift springs to life and 5'7 worth of Biblical Archangel-slash-Trickster God practically rolls out of it, hits the curb, and then scrambles to his feet just as the damn thing closes again. There's a silver stiletto blade in his hands and there's blood on it, which probably had a lot to with the fact that on the other side of that particular Rift, there's a dead archangel.

Raphael never did fucking know when to quit.

"Your timing is fantastic," Gabriel, because he stopped calling himself the Trickster a long time ago, spits at where the Rift should be. He wobbles a bit. He's not hurt terribly bad for an angel, but for something that passes as human, he sort of looks like he got on the bad end of a really vicious fight.

Probably because he totally did.

sunday_reveries : "No one ever does live happily ever after, but we leave the children to find that out for themselves."
— Stephen King (Wolves of the Calla)



Muse: The Trickster
Word Count: 750