you're impure. you've done bad things, been a cruel person, or you've been terribly wrong, and you've seen what the world really is. maybe you're bad, or maybe your road to hell is paved with good intentions. whatever the case is, there's red in your ledger.
they're pure. almost innocent, even. they're kind and open and the very opposite of worldly. maybe they're not always good, no one is, but their heart is clean.
despite these differences, there's something between you. you shouldn't relate, you should be worlds away...
how to play
comment with your character. mention if they're more likely to be pure or impure.
reply to others.
use the rng to determine the direction of your thread or come up with your own direction.
prompts
light || the pure is affecting the impure in a positive way.
dark || the impure is affecting the pure in a negative way.
purposeful || you want to corrupt something so pure.
forgive || they know what you've done and they've forgiven you.
death || something comes up from the dark past and strikes out at the one loved the most. they know it would hurt you to see them in pain - or worse.
life || the smut option. will there be hesitance in "defiling" purity?
cheer || never again did you think that there would be simple joys. picnics, birthdays, gentle holding of hands.
confessions || you have to get them into your life; they're the only good thing you can see.
teach || one party is teaching the other about more worldly pursuits, may or may not be sexual. perhaps they feel guilty for this, perhaps they don't.
end || you can't do this to them anymore. they deserve so much better than you.
"Then what should I call them?" Curiosity has him leaning forward to peer down at what Daimon is doing with the pen and paper.
His eyes narrow slightly in annoyance. "Heaven can be beautiful. You have to know where to look."
And whose Heaven to peer into, of course.
"It's complicated and chaotic. We're soldiers without a leader... and my siblings have no idea what to do with the sudden free will they've been given." They weren't made for that. They were made to serve and protect, to carry out God's will and then they were abandoned.
He rolls his shoulders in a shrug, going quiet for a moment when the waitress comes back to fill their coffee cups. His ends up with a few packets of sugar in it before he goes back to the placemat.
"I'll take your word for it."
Daimon's eyes narrow as he listens, drawing spiraling circles and penning in quick, neat symbols. It's a specific dispel. "So you seem to be doing fine for yourself with all your strings cut--" He glances up at him, then squints. "Well, mostly fine."
He leans back at that, tilting his head curiously. "I learned."
And no, he doesn't think he's learned well. He's made plenty of mistakes... but he would still prefer free will to the alternative. "You seem to be doing well for yourself as well, considering what you are."
"I didn't mean to offend you." If he had. It wasn't always easy for him to tell. "I've never met a half-breed in all of my very long years. It must be... difficult for you. But one of my closest friends was a demon, and she was also my caretaker at one time. I saw her change into something better."
He idly reaches for the paper, a thoughtful expression coming to his face.
"... Thank you." Because that was the appropriate thing to say, wasn't it?
He smirks for a moment, leveling his bright gaze on the angel for a moment, then moves to lean back again, sipping from his still too-hot coffee. "I don't offend that easily." Daimon stops to add another sugar.
"And I don't doubt it, demons are as complex as everyone else." He gestures around them, humans he means. "It's not in their nature to be good, but sometimes you have to go against the grain."
He inclines his head ever so slightly at the thanks as the waitress comes back and sets down a horrifyingly complex mound of everything-but-the-kitchen-sink hashbrowns down in front of them both. Yup, he ordered for you too, Cas, eat your fucking hashbrowns.
"Sometimes, every creature has to." Angels included, though many were incredibly stubborn about it.
And-- hn. He hadn't paid attention to Daimon doing that. "I don't need to eat." But he does pick up his fork -- he's dined with Dean and Sam enough to know that sometimes, it's easier to just go along than to protest. Besides, certain foods did taste good. He's not sure how much of his taste for certain foods is his own or leftover from his vessel though.
No, no, trust him, those hash browns are off the chain. He adds tabasco to his though, because there's not enough crap on it already, clearly.
"I actually don't know, I feel hunger, if that's what you mean. But I don't need to eat while I'm in Hell." But time passed differently there, and it was the source of his power, so he supposed that was substance enough. Here on earth though...
"Who are you looking to kill." He lifts his chin. "With that weapon I mean... or is it just a general precaution?"
He takes a bite -- and it is good, so he takes another before answering-- "A precaution for now. There is another demon looking for it. It would be-- bad if this was ever in his hands."
And Crowley had his ways of obtaining things regardless of who kept them -- it would be safest on him.
"I would like to think I could keep powerful smiting artifacts like that safe...." He chews thoughtfully, then smirks.
"I say that, but then i'd just handed it over to any cute angel that would look my way." He thinks perhaps that teasing remark will probably go over Castiel's head. It's probably for the best.
That gets him to pause, arching a brow across the table at Daimon. "Is that an attempt to flirt?"
He may not always pick up on signals, but that sounds along the same lines of things he's heard Dean or Meg say in the past -- with the latter only directing it at him, of course.
His own brow goes up, that mildly amused expression set on his face and he gestures at him with his force before answering. "Yes... but do go on. What else have you managed to collect?"
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bakerstreet2015-02-10 08:35 pm
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His eyes narrow slightly in annoyance. "Heaven can be beautiful. You have to know where to look."
And whose Heaven to peer into, of course.
"It's complicated and chaotic. We're soldiers without a leader... and my siblings have no idea what to do with the sudden free will they've been given." They weren't made for that. They were made to serve and protect, to carry out God's will and then they were abandoned.
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"I'll take your word for it."
Daimon's eyes narrow as he listens, drawing spiraling circles and penning in quick, neat symbols. It's a specific dispel. "So you seem to be doing fine for yourself with all your strings cut--" He glances up at him, then squints. "Well, mostly fine."
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And no, he doesn't think he's learned well. He's made plenty of mistakes... but he would still prefer free will to the alternative. "You seem to be doing well for yourself as well, considering what you are."
He could be so much worse.
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"I think I'm doing especially well for myself because of what I am." He lifts his chin a little.
"That will get you your weapon, I have a catch in New Orleans, hidden in a mausoleum." He'd written the location on the page.
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He idly reaches for the paper, a thoughtful expression coming to his face.
"... Thank you." Because that was the appropriate thing to say, wasn't it?
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"And I don't doubt it, demons are as complex as everyone else." He gestures around them, humans he means. "It's not in their nature to be good, but sometimes you have to go against the grain."
He inclines his head ever so slightly at the thanks as the waitress comes back and sets down a horrifyingly complex mound of everything-but-the-kitchen-sink hashbrowns down in front of them both. Yup, he ordered for you too, Cas, eat your fucking hashbrowns.
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And-- hn. He hadn't paid attention to Daimon doing that. "I don't need to eat." But he does pick up his fork -- he's dined with Dean and Sam enough to know that sometimes, it's easier to just go along than to protest. Besides, certain foods did taste good. He's not sure how much of his taste for certain foods is his own or leftover from his vessel though.
"Do you?"
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"I actually don't know, I feel hunger, if that's what you mean. But I don't need to eat while I'm in Hell." But time passed differently there, and it was the source of his power, so he supposed that was substance enough. Here on earth though...
"Who are you looking to kill." He lifts his chin. "With that weapon I mean... or is it just a general precaution?"
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And Crowley had his ways of obtaining things regardless of who kept them -- it would be safest on him.
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"I say that, but then i'd just handed it over to any cute angel that would look my way." He thinks perhaps that teasing remark will probably go over Castiel's head. It's probably for the best.
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He may not always pick up on signals, but that sounds along the same lines of things he's heard Dean or Meg say in the past -- with the latter only directing it at him, of course.
"It may have its uses later."
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Daimon claimed to be an ally, but Castiel had learned to stay at least a bit wary.
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"Because I'm giving you a really nice thing I have, and I might want to trade."
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He brings his coffee to his lips then, taking a sip of it before placing it back down. "But I would help you in another way in exchange for it."