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of castiel ♃ (castieli) wrote in silverage,

"No," the man in the trench coat explained, bland yet dead serious. "But I do serve Heaven."

Not since two thousand years ago had celestial intentions taken physical form on Earth. Human faith had taken much abuse over these last centuries, but a smattering of doubt had never been uncommon in even the most devout believers of the olden days. Castiel, though, was a little naive in this respect, uncomprehending when people did not take his word for it that angels existed. Their dedication to scepticism baffled him, when one stood right in front of them.

However, the thinly veiled accusation brought an immediate chill to his soul-piercing stare. "My name is Castiel and I am an angel of the Lord," he bristled in clear affront. A few measured strides delivered them inches apart. "I covet no fruits of iniquity."

He was well aware of the double life that Selina led, but he knew also every intricacy of her past, a bold claim for a man, to be certain, though not so for an angel. Despite his display of annoyance, he was not here to judge, and besides, it was not her excellence in secretarial duties that brought him to her flat in these early hours.