(open) ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ʙʟɪɴᴅ

[unwings]

WHO: Castiel
WHAT: catch-all, open and closed starters
WHEN: november-december
WHERE: cadens, nocwich, horizon
WARNING: nothing yet

ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴇᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛʀᴜɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴛᴇ
sᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴀ ғɪᴇʟᴅ ᴏғ ғʟᴏᴡᴇʀs
ᴄᴇʀᴇʙʀᴀʟ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴜᴅᴇsᴛ
ᴀʟʟ ʜᴏʟʟᴇʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ

Comments

OPEN; the horizon

[unwings]

[ cas wastes no time getting back to his domain in the horizon, and after the initial introductory period, the space seems to remember him well. Here, Castiel’s always in his token accountant suit and oversized, tan trench coat, with crooked blue tie.

Find him milling about the gardens, tending to the bees, eyes soft and smile kind as they buzz around him in a happy cloud. He doesn’t wear any protective netting, and doesn’t appear to be suffering any consequences from it either. Metaphysical dream bees are pretty chill.

Elsewhere, in a wide, open greenway of the park, Castiel’s summoned himself an oversized checkers board, and appears to be in deep strategic thought for his next move, while his opponent, the resident dream cat - a large, fluffy, orange tomcat - impatiently licks its butt. You could almost swear you hear it say "hurry up, dumbass".

Another time, Cas might be found deeper into the trees and bushes, tending to the old, stone chapel, dusting off the pews and altar, or watering the bushes and flowers bordering the exterior. ]

OPEN; nocwich hunting

[unwings]

[ the slaying of monsters wasn’t the first thing castiel had in mind when he accepted a finely crafted spear from the guardians of the woods and entered the hunting grounds. There’s plenty enough of that back home for him, and others here seem to have it well in hand. Moreso, he’d wanted to explore, catch a glimpse of these new and fantastical creatures in their mystifying, foreboding habitat.

So, like a horror safari.

Moving at a slow, silent pace through the trees and foliage, cas is able to watch a herd of fisceime from a distance for a time, until the raucous crack and slam of a torcainse up-rooting a nearby tree scatters them.

Later, when Cas finds an outcropping of boulders to settle himself onto and simply wait for local wildlife to wander by, a cyfaill comes to investigate him, buzzing happily around his head, landing on a shoulder, and scampering down over his arm and onto a hand. Not even allowing a breath to stir him, Cas does his best impression of an indifferent fern, letting the insect toddle around, leaving a bit of its sugary, green goo behind, before it flutters off. Of course, with the sweet scent of it and honey-like consistency, the angel has a taste of it.

The happy, floating high it leaves him with is perhaps not the best state for being alone in a dangerous, predator infested wood. When he lastly stumbles on a deeply hibernating dreunania, and takes to plucking some flowers and herbs, the gealaci kucing stalking him from tree branches above, goes entirely unnoticed. ]

CLOSED; nadine and the medical drama

[unwings]

[ Castiel’s never been comfortable with idle time, least of all when there’s help he could be giving. The central Cadens medical facilities often finds Cas volunteering, either taking care of libertas victims still on the mend, or lending a hand with new patients and emergencies.

Though common colds, allergic reactions, arthritis, and strange new lumps take up most cases, occasionally something dire and immediate will grace the clinic, and this is where it gets dangerous for him. Any other year of his life, healing wouldn’t be such a tax, just a simple tap on the forehead, or a glowing hand hovering for a few seconds. but as of late, castiel’s running on borrowed grace. It’s finite, non-renewable, expiring. The more he uses it, the faster it depletes, but what’s he going to do, letting anyone die in front of him, when it’s within his immediate power to stop it, is not something he’s capable of.

Thankfully, we haven’t seen one of those yet today. Just the average, walk-in clinic fair. Cas gauges temperatures, examines ears and throats, eventually lingers a touch for a moment or gets a decent sniff and knows what they’re dealing with before the pantomimed actions finish out, but he’s found humans like to see a little effort put into an examination before a diagnosis is spit out. Preferably, one they understand. That’s the part that usually gets him.

One patient in particular stumps him, and Cas wanders out from a curtain to question a passing co-volunteer. ]

How would you describe hypertension to a man who doesn’t understand the concept of arteries?

CLOSED; jojo’s bathtime adventure

[unwings]

[ Not all ventures into the hunting woods Cas takes are of the same Attenborough narrated safari vibe as the first he took. Today was more about the hunt than observation, and turns out to be the messier of the two. Robes covered in mud, monster goo, and blood, Castiel straight up reeks. Naturally, this brings him to the hot spring.

However, our angel boy has not watched a single cute hot spring episode in his life. He only sees a pool of water, occupied by bathers, and assumes it’s for the same kind of washing off any lake or stream would be.

He makes it nearly to the edge of a pool, still dressed in his disgusting clothes, boots, and hunt-related grimey fluids, a short, blond-haired woman (in the correct attire for this activity) crosses his path, snagging his attention. ]

Jo Harvelle. I trust your time in the gambling den was profitable?

CLOSED; geraldine of riverdance

[unwings]

[ On his exploration of Nocwich, Cas finally arrives at the hot springs, either not taking notice of the minimal dress code, or not caring. After enjoying the ambient steam cloud, Cas steps directly into one of the pools, clothes and all. Pacing until the water engulfs him, he sinks down to sit at the bottom of the pool.

For a long time. For too long of a time. Five minutes, ten minutes, more pass, and he’s yet to come up, no trail of bubbles rising from the depths around him. If one were to duck underwater and take a look, he’s seated cross-legged at the base of the spring, eyes closed, as if meditating. He’s living his best life, don’t mind him, just... watch where you step?


In a flurry of bubbles and patrons trading out spots, Geralt, tragically, misses what’s lurking in the depths. His foot hits a shin, knee hits a ribcage, and Castiel’s tranquil meditations are rudely interrupted by face level witcher crotch. Just a passing glance, nothing scandalous, but it does cause a new stream of bubbles and some flailing underfoot. Hopefully Geralt’s not so exhausted he can’t dodge a couple stray limps as Cas tries to find up from down and bring himself to the surface again. ]

Geralt. [ Cas eventually stands, straightening his soaked clothes. Ahem. ] Good evening.