If only he had time to express his deep disappointment about Mistah Vakarian not sticking the landing. It's alright, though — he is, by now, extremely used to his jokes and references bouncing off the unimpressed shell of an alien that doesn't really get it. Granted, Castiel's gotten better at pop culture these last few years, but... boy, there sure was a time.
The little device in his hands whines and pops, beeping out irregular and intermittent noises — until he waves it over one particular spirit board, and the whole thing lights up like Christmas, whistling and beeping a tiny little cacophony of noise.
"Gotcha, you son of a-" pause, and then incredibly flat look back at Garrus as he lamely finishes, "Candle."
Just. So dumb. Just so dumb. Perfectly his brand of dumb. What a gift, what a treasure.
"Alright, I think I can start binding this one. Odds are it's gonna piss somebody off, so I wouldn't be surprised if they started sending in the troops. I'd appreciate it if you two could multi-task your flirting with keeping 'em out of my personal space for a few minutes." Which- hey, it ain't judgment. If anything, he sounds mostly amused and perfectly pleasant about the whole thing. Ahh, young love. How sweet to behold, here in this... haunted wax museum of death and jump scares.
Logistically, a lot of that protection detail's gonna come down to Shep. The moment Dean starts his methodical, studious recitation of the words, Garrus will hear those whispers grow louder — familiar voices, unfamiliar words, urgently murmured phrases that need to be caught on record for later study. And, right on time with the sound, the wax figures will all turn in perfect, twitchy tandem — every single one of them pivoting abruptly to stare at their little group. Shit is, as they say, about to pop off.
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The little device in his hands whines and pops, beeping out irregular and intermittent noises — until he waves it over one particular spirit board, and the whole thing lights up like Christmas, whistling and beeping a tiny little cacophony of noise.
"Gotcha, you son of a-" pause, and then incredibly flat look back at Garrus as he lamely finishes, "Candle."
Just. So dumb. Just so dumb. Perfectly his brand of dumb. What a gift, what a treasure.
"Alright, I think I can start binding this one. Odds are it's gonna piss somebody off, so I wouldn't be surprised if they started sending in the troops. I'd appreciate it if you two could multi-task your flirting with keeping 'em out of my personal space for a few minutes." Which- hey, it ain't judgment. If anything, he sounds mostly amused and perfectly pleasant about the whole thing. Ahh, young love. How sweet to behold, here in this... haunted wax museum of death and jump scares.
Logistically, a lot of that protection detail's gonna come down to Shep. The moment Dean starts his methodical, studious recitation of the words, Garrus will hear those whispers grow louder — familiar voices, unfamiliar words, urgently murmured phrases that need to be caught on record for later study. And, right on time with the sound, the wax figures will all turn in perfect, twitchy tandem — every single one of them pivoting abruptly to stare at their little group. Shit is, as they say, about to pop off.