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of castiel ♃ (castieli) wrote in silverage,

"I do not understand that reference," Castiel replied, clueless and indifferent to her anger. As an ordinarily a genderless multidimensional wavelength roughly the size of the Chrysler building, he was woefully uneducated about conventional etiquette between a man and a woman. He also did not understand why she had mentioned the afterlife. Was she suggesting that he had died a man? Where did humans get these ideas? Their bible was riddled with many errors as a result of multifold interpretations and translations, but even it made no mention of such nonsense.

"Yes," he said in answer to her next question. As though on cue, he reached into an inner pocket and withdrew a cannister of holy water as he watched her walk away, this time stalking closely behind her. This, he handed to her, along with a Smith & Wesson double-action revolver and a stock of hollow point .44 Winchesters filled with salt. The latter set had been borrowed from a retired hunter. "Holy water and salt ammunition. If you are caught, these should slow them down."

"Most demons can only walk the earth by possessing a human host. If in doubt, the word Christo will cause them discomfort." Of course, there were many other methods that a hunter would have found handy, but these varied in complexity and she was sufficiently equipped to see through this job. "Tonight. I will deliver you to the location as close as I can."

"There is one last thing," he added. "Your shoulder."