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of castiel ♃ (castieli) wrote in silverage,

"In case we were wrong about your abilities," Castiel ended with the same dryness with which he'd begun, no more ominously than if he'd said she ought to bring an umbrella in case it rained. "Possession is one of the things for which you must be prepared," he agreed, approving of her line of thought.

It was a good thing she was already backed up against the counter for support. Before she could really have another say, he was examining her with a tilted head. "This will be uncomfortable," he warned, then laid his hand over her solar plexus. There was a warm glow that soaked through her skin and soon began to burn until lines of complex inscriptions in Enochian were etched into all twelve pairs of her ribs. The process stung badly, but also mercifully quick.

"This will protect you from demonic detection." Isis, who had been struggling and hissing nastily in her arms, clawed at his sleeve as he removed his hand. "And also possession. It will not ward against ordinary perception, however. I trust that will not be a problem."