[ castiel might not know what he is, but he's pretty sure it's not a walrus, seal, or sea lion. Elephant may be included on one of these heads, though. but he concedes, certainly not interested in furthering the man's potential brain trauma. ] Yes, I can be... less.
[ his head tucks down, multitudes of bright eyes blinking closed as wings fold in, and the entire skyscraper sized mass of him begins to funnel downward, a mesh of feathers and rings and light, until the last of the wings fall away and fade, leaving just a Jimmy Novak shaped Castiel. Simple white robes draped over him, well-worn and frayed at the edges, with antique but unremarkable armor on his shins and forearms, and the symbol of The Hanged Man embroidered on his chest.
immediately, cas steps into dean's space with concern painting now human features, leaning to inspect his ears, one side, then the other, then back again. um, there's no brain bleeding going on here, sir, that was alarming and now he's very confused. ]
Your ears appear normal. Do you feel dizzy? Is your vision blurred?
[ maybe he's concussed. a sense of protectiveness is unshakable, and cas would like to assume it's simply part of his nature, but while he'd been considerate and caring for Sam Wilson, it wasn't quite the same as this worry needling at him now. where are this man's loyal friends? they should be here to watch over him if he insists on crawling beneath heavy machinery. ]
no subject
I don't share any anatomy with marine life.
[ castiel might not know what he is, but he's pretty sure it's not a walrus, seal, or sea lion. Elephant may be included on one of these heads, though. but he concedes, certainly not interested in furthering the man's potential brain trauma. ] Yes, I can be... less.
[ his head tucks down, multitudes of bright eyes blinking closed as wings fold in, and the entire skyscraper sized mass of him begins to funnel downward, a mesh of feathers and rings and light, until the last of the wings fall away and fade, leaving just a Jimmy Novak shaped Castiel. Simple white robes draped over him, well-worn and frayed at the edges, with antique but unremarkable armor on his shins and forearms, and the symbol of The Hanged Man embroidered on his chest.
immediately, cas steps into dean's space with concern painting now human features, leaning to inspect his ears, one side, then the other, then back again. um, there's no brain bleeding going on here, sir, that was alarming and now he's very confused. ]
Your ears appear normal. Do you feel dizzy? Is your vision blurred?
[ maybe he's concussed. a sense of protectiveness is unshakable, and cas would like to assume it's simply part of his nature, but while he'd been considerate and caring for Sam Wilson, it wasn't quite the same as this worry needling at him now. where are this man's loyal friends? they should be here to watch over him if he insists on crawling beneath heavy machinery. ]