CASTIEL (angel of thursday) (
unwings) wrote in
abraxaslogs2021-12-10 02:23 pm
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[OPEN] nature, nurture, heaven, and home
WHO: Castiel and Free Cities residents
WHAT: Intro and catch-all for December
WHEN: Through December
WHERE: Cadens and the Horizon mostly
WARNINGS: None as of yet, will update as needed
MUSEUMS; Castiel sees some sights
CITY EXPLORATION; Castiel makes a friend
Academy of Medicine; Castiel Auditions for Grey’s Anatomy
Market; Castiel Gets His Hustle On
WHAT: Intro and catch-all for December
WHEN: Through December
WHERE: Cadens and the Horizon mostly
WARNINGS: None as of yet, will update as needed
MUSEUMS; Castiel sees some sights
[ While Cas spends his first few days in Cadens touring each of the popular museums, he finds himself intrigued most by the history museum. Much time and attention is paid to the mention of Fey and Daemons, their near extinction and claiming of a territory christened ‘Nocwich’. Studying a map, the trek there seems a long and arduous one, requiring navigation across deserts and mountain ranges. Not likely one he’d be able to make soon, but his interest remains all the same.
Curiosity eating at him, Castiel can’t help but seek more information from any source, once he’s finished studying all he can of the exhibits. ]
When was the last time the Fey were in contact with human settlements? [ Cas asks the museum guest standing nearby, assuming anyone in this city will know more on the topic than he does currently, ] Do expeditions often venture to Nocwich?
[ The Fey of his world are wiley but ancient creatures, though clearly the preferred option to daemons. Either race might have a more accurate insight on the nature of the Old Gods and the Singularity than he trusts the humans of any faction would. Perhaps that should be his next goal. ]
CITY EXPLORATION; Castiel makes a friend
[ Cas doesn’t sleep, not unless he’s extremely low on grace, or grievously wounded, neither of which apply currently. Dean’s made it very clear that standing sentry over him while he’s “getting his 4 hours” is “creepy”, so lingering around the barracks they’ve been provided cots in isn’t an option.
Instead, he takes to exploring the streets of Cadens after dark. Anywhere between midnight and dawn, Cas can be found leisurely pacing along major streets or dirt roads, anywhere in town, browsing along with eyes scanning the scenery like he’s perusing a museum, hands clasped behind his back.
At some odd hour of the night/morning, he happens upon a stray cat. A scrawny, tawny colored thing, fur likely stained darker from grime and dirt. He follows her, joining the journey from one alley to the next, scavenging for scraps in dumpsters, trash cans, and compost piles. When she finds a rubbish bin too tall for her to knock over, or covered to keep her from jumping in, Castiel courteously assists, removing a lid, tipping over the container, or even unwrapping bundles for her inspection.
Catch him anywhere, exploring or on a journey with his new cat friend. ]
Academy of Medicine; Castiel Auditions for Grey’s Anatomy
A; [ Castiel’s toured the museums, which led him to the medical academy, where he paces now in the lobby area, a goal in mind but not entirely certain how to get there. Spotting someone in similar robes to his, he approaches to question them. ]
Hello. [ Short, curt, but not unfriendly, ] I’d like to offer my aid as a healer. Whom should I speak with?
[ Cas has no clue if this person is any level of authority in the medical academy, or local hospitals, but that doesn’t seem to bother him. Ask enough people enough questions and he’ll get there eventually. ]
B; [ Or perhaps he had no luck in the lobby, and snuck his way into the halls of the academy, wandering until he happened upon a group of students, led by an experienced doctor, in a crowded room with pockets of other doctors, staff, and patients about. They appear to be teaching, with two patients set on exams tables at either side of the doctor. Quizzing, the students declare symptoms and propose possible diagnoses, when Cas approaches without invitation, assuming the question is open for anyone to answer.
He leans to the side, and takes a sniff of one patient’s shoulder, before announcing confidently - ] It’s a respiratory infection.
[ When he glances at the patient on the other side, the man’s staring at him as if Castiel’s grown a second head (technically, his true form has 3, so, not entirely inaccurate). The angel takes it as cue to diagnose him as well, leaning over to give a quizzical hair-sniff. ]
This one’s diabetic. [ Cas reports promptly to the attending physician, ] Type 2, insulin resistant.
With mild indigestion.
[ A pause, the group staring at him unsure whether to comment on the rudeness of his interruption, or the audacity that medical conditions can be sniffed out. Either it goes over his head, or Cas doesn't find it worth acknowledging, as he continues on with his goal. ]
Does your Academy offer employment?
Market; Castiel Gets His Hustle On
Blacksmith; No, I don’t have any currency, but I can offer services.
[ the woman attended to customers at the counter between a blacksmith's workshop and market streets arches her brows suggestively, a little waggling, while the muscled wall of a 6’5” man behind her, most likely the husband Castiel’s realizing, looms menacingly, idly slapping a forge hammer against the palm of his hand. There’s been a misunderstanding. ]
No no, not... not those services. Do you need anything lifted? Or killed? [ the smith immediately points to his competition, another blacksmith set up directly across the road. Another misunderstanding. Castiel’s getting worse at this, not better. ] I should’ve specified. Any game animal or malicious creature killed, not fellow citizens.
[ No offense, but you don’t look like you could lift a laundry basket, let alone anything here. The chuckle is a deep, patronizing tone, and Cas tilts his head with furrowed brows. The blacksmith claims no offense, but seems an awful lot like he meant offense. The angel squints, barest hint of a frown forming. Eyes travel past the smith and into his shop. Without requesting entry or preamble, Cas paces past the man, his wife, and his onlooking apprentice, to the massive anvil they’d been hammering on moments ago.
Wordlessly, Cas lifts the iron monstrosity several feet off the ground without a flinch, grunt, or gritting of teeth, easy as rearranging kitchen chairs. Expression flat, he abruptly drops it back into place, rattling the sword stands, tools, and tables around them. A slight crack splinters the stone beneath it.
After an awkwardly silent few seconds, the wife breaks the silence.
Flooring’s added to your tab. What kinda sword you looking for? ]
Bakery; [ In his exploration of available commercial goods, the scent of fresh bread and pastries seizes Castiel’s senses. Following it to a popular local bakery, his eyes drink in the wide array of breads, muffins, pastries with fruit toppings or fillings, and pie. Observing for a moment, he watches a customer barter a basket of eggs for a loaf of specialty bread, someone else with milk for muffins. It gives him an idea. Perhaps not a great one, but we’ll see how it pans out.
Trekking back into the streets, more towards the outskirts and farmland, Cas can be found creeping along after a stray chicken that’s toddling through dirt roads, eyeing this stranger crouched behind her with a suspicious cluck. Usually it's wayward children and bored dogs that stalk the hen, not full grown adults shuffling feet against gravel and earth to sneak closer and closer. The chicken’s right to be wary, and a distressed squawk or three sounds when Cas snaps his arms out to grab her.
Wings flap, feet kick, Cas gets a mouthful of feathers and a couple winged slaps across the face before he finally touches a couple fingers to the bird’s tiny little head. Whether the chicken wants to or not, it goes limp, unconscious. Great. Bartering item acquired.
Ten or so minutes later, he’s back at the bakery, loose chicken feathers stuck in his hair and dirt smudged on his cheeks, yet he looks as if he’d just won the lottery - quite proud of himself. Once at the front of the line, Cas presents the dozing chicken like the grandest prize in the world. ]
I need pie. Please accept this poultry in exchange.
[ some minutes later, he’ll be short one chicken but gained a cherry pie, self-satisfied smile on his face. Somewhere in town, an irate farmer is looking for their missing hen. Feel free to intervene at any point in this process. ]
no subject
Then it's gone, and the dude just looks sheepish. Man, this new face is really running full-tilt in the opposite direction in terms of badassery.
The fact that he's missing his memory too opens up a little reluctant sympathy on Dean's part, even if he's still digesting what the thing actually is, deep down under those robes. It would be real friggin nice to put a name to whatever that was.
At any rate, without a lifetime of experience killing or being killed by things that aren't human, it's a little easier for him to do some... slight approximation of relaxing. The socket wrench lowers again, and he breaks away from vigilance to cast his eyes about the car graveyard like he's inspecting it for the first time all over again. )
The fixing, apparently. I don't know, I guess it's a hobby.
( He shifts, carefully leaning against the hood of the car — not that he's worried about structural integrity, just that he's still way too aware of-- Castiel, apparently. Is that a weird name? It seems like it's probably a weird name. )
The brain might not remember, but the hands do. ( Muscle memory, or whatever. A beat. ) So what are you, like, my neighbor or something? Is that a thing here?
no subject
[ neighbor, huh? such a domestic, simple sounding term, but it somehow feels foreign and new to him. maybe it's just the sense of a stationary settlement, a place one belongs, a home that fits strangely in his head. cas senses a pit inside himself, a yearning for community. it would make sense with the arcana he's been assigned.
As he considers it, Cas tugs at the handle of the car's passenger door, swinging it open to peer inside the back seat. Roomy, seems comfortable. He's not sure where the impulse to climb inside comes from, but Cas doesn't question it, slipping onto the bench there. The leather's well-worn and soft under his palms, and the creak that sounds when he tugs the car door shut pings something distant in the back of his mind that sets of a chain of sparks through his brain. odd, but interesting. idly, he tests the suspension, giving a slight bounce, and raises his gaze back to the mechanic.
yes, he thinks. the idea of having this man, who takes comfort in fixing things and speaks in half-incomprehensible mock-poetics, as his neighbor sits right with him. the magnetism to him, to his domain, feels compelling, and cas wants to learn more. ]
Yes, I think I am.
[ a wayward weariness that's been weighing on him since leaving Sam Wilson's home alleviates, settling an anxiety he didn't realize he'd been carrying. The hurry to get away, or seek out, something he can't form a solid idea of dissipates. maybe this is where he belongs. At least until the man's loyal friends return. It's a wide and empty place for a man to be so alone. if nothing else, cas can watch the edges of his homestead, and ensure the shadows from the smoldering forest or fires from the volcano don't encroach.
cas beams at him through the rolled down window of the impala's back seat, unguarded sincerity there. ]
What do I call you, neighbor?
[ meaning, name. he's asking for a name. ]
no subject
Dorky little guy looks cute when he's pleased. Plus, something about it pokes at some part of his brain he can't identify.
There's a contemplative pause between the question and the answer, and when he relents it's over more than just giving up his name. )
Dean. Stop bouncing, this ain't a trampoline.
( The latter bit is mild, absent grump, with no real commitment or heat. Not like it's actually gonna hurt the shocks, this thing's made of tougher stuff than that.
He rounds the hood toward the driver's seat, climbs in, then slings his arm over the back so he can half-turn and peer at the guy. )
Alright, if you're stickin' around, we're gonna have to lay down some ground rules.
no subject
Apologies.
[ It’s difficult to reign in his cheer. He has a neighbor now, even if the neighbor isn’t quite the same species as him, perhaps that won’t hinder companionship as much as he initially suspected.
Once Dean joins him in the driver’s seat, Cas slides to the side, settling himself more in the middle of the bench than to one side, so he can see him clearly, and Cas can lean over the back of Dean’s bench to watch the goings-on of the dashboard and gear shift.
The urge to reach out and touch some of the most apparent knobs crosses his mind, but he thinks better of it when Dean makes it clear they’ll be laying down the law now. ]
Ground rules. [ he echoes, eyes engaged and intently curious on the side of Dean’s face. He’s good with rules and instructions (he thinks), this should be doable. ] Like personal space?
no subject
( Look at that, good job, he's learning already. )
Second, don't go... sneaking up on people like that. Especially not as a... ten story tall... mind-bending... freaky...
( He's coming up short fishing around for a good final noun here, because — still, what the fuck. Whatever, dude knows what he means, so he finishes with: )
Just don't. That's how you give somebody a heart attack.
( This is him praying that back in the real world he didn't piss himself all over Sam's floor. )
no subject
I never intended to— sneak. [ it's not his fault your face was under a car. just convenient for his ten story tall snooping. ] Your heart rate was elevated but stable.
[ by the way, he hears that - your heart. you'll never need Life Alert no matter how elderly and frail you get, bud, isn't that great? what a helpful neighbor he is. ]
I'd have noticed if you went into cardiac arrest. You were never in any danger.
[ it's genuinely meant as sincere reassurance, but clearly castiel doesn't pick up on how creepy it sounds otherwise. ]
no subject
Third, you gotta stop taking stuff so literally, man. Sometimes people say stuff that means other stuff. Don't look at me, I don't make the rules.
( That last part's delivered about as sympathetically as he can manage, which is... like a two and a half out of ten. He doesn't make the rules, he's just the biggest abuser of them of all time, probably.
There's a pause — either to check that Cas is on the same page, or to see if anything else springs to mind. Considering they've known each other all of 5 minutes, and he's covered just about every infraction thus far... yeah, he might be tapped.
That being said, maybe he should throw the guy a bone or something. Balance out of the dick he apparently is. )
...you can sit in the front, if you want. I don't bite.
no subject
How is it indicated when words mean other stuff?
[ cas is not on the same page. he needs clear instructions on that, please, cas doesn't feel equipped to just know these things innately, and Dean apparently makes frequent use of this rule. the request is genuine, as is his intention of following the rules he's given - not attempting to be difficult.
as for where he should sit, the angel pauses briefly, glancing at the empty space beside dean in the front row, and considers the relative comfort of where he is. there's a certain appeal to it, a sense that it'd been off limits until now, and his curiosity wins out.
perhaps prompting the need for another rule, cas flaps his lil wings and teleports, rather than opening a door, sliding out, opening another door, and taking the new seat. why waste all that effort? so inefficient, and it would've interrupted the flow of conversation. as if nothing happened, he continues on with the topic at hand. ]
Cardiac arrest and skin flaying are very serious medical concerns. Is it truly safe to overlook them?
no subject
Je-
( -sus Christ gets cut off before he can finish even the first word, clamped down along with the closing of his eyes and the setting of his back teeth.
Regressed as he is into his own brain to chill his ass out, enough external stimuli is blocked out that he can feel the sudden flair the proximity brings to his arm. He opens his eyes slowly, brow furrowing, attention directed downward as he slowly peels his sleeve up and away. The handprint shaped brand there looks inflamed, and he could swear it might almost be glowing.
He peels his eyes away from it again and turns them toward Castiel, a split mix between curious and accusatory. )
Why is this thing itching like a poison ivy shower whenever you start invading my personal bubble?
no subject
His focus is so singular he hardly moves or notices the rule he’s already breaking when Dean’s eyes crack open, Cas following his gaze to his shoulder. No need for Dean to angle the shoulder to him, the angel’s already leaning over to inspect.
The mark pulls at him, something deep in the multidimensional layers of his mind stirring, aligning. ]
I don’t… [ cas starts but never finishes, arresting compulsion dragging his hand to touch Dean’s arm, fingertips light on the outline of the inflamed print, puzzled but enthralled.
He couldn’t say what prompts him to it. Like locking mechanisms clicking into place, its clockwork, by design or meant to be. Carefully, mesmerized, his palm drifts to hover over the scar, then, press down over it, fitting exactly into place.
His being surges, panic or ecstasy or sudden epiphany, he can’t define it, but his very atoms are humming with the skin under his hand, as if a piece of him was left embedded in this man’s flesh.
Castiel’s eyes lock rapt to Dean’s, lost to fixation and searching, words entirely failing him as he drinks him in, body and soul. RIP Dean’s personal bubble, Cas has clearly staked claim to this territory now.
Still entranced with the human imprinted by him, Castiel eventually murmurs, distant, captivated. ]
I think… we’ve met.
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Awestruck and wary, Dean levels him with a look, searching, uncomfortable, discerning. )
Who the hell are you?
( Maybe more importantly, did he just find one of his people?
This whole affair leaves him shook, gives him enough incentive to yank himself out of the Horizon to figure out just who in the hell this dude even is. He jolts awake in the real world, mind fuzzy, memories filtering out like water through cupped hands until all he has left is confusion and a weird itch on his arm. )
...huh. So that's what DMT feels like.