InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "screamed the speck of dust..."

Roger Smith (roger_smith) wrote in silverage,
@ 2011-06-02 09:42:00

Current mood:	awake
Entry tags:	!log, castiel, roger smith

Who: Roger Smith and OPEN.
When: Thursday Late Afternoon/Early evening.
Where: Dublin House.
What: Drinkin' time.
Rating/status: TBD.

New York City. That was the name people gave to this place. There were no domes (at least, none that he could see) but the names of the streets and rivers rang familiar to Roger. If his own world had been indeed created by some high power, it had been based on this New York City.

The old building he once called home was nowhere to be found, so after driving around for a few hours, the first thing he had done was find a temporary place to stay. The hotel he had chosen was small, but it had enough amenities to almost make up for the lack of the luxury he enjoyed back home - not to mention he had been able to negotiate an excelent deal with the manager. It would do for now.

His next order of business had been to learn more about this New York City. A few conversations in the hotel lobby lead him this place, a place not too fancy and that now filling slowly with regulars. Good, Roger thought. He would try the most upscale places as he learned about the city. But for now, he only wanted to relax and get some information.

Roger ordered a beer and settled a small table against the wall for himself. He sipped slowly, listening to conversations and keeping an eye out for anything unusual.

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castieli
2011-06-02 08:50 pm UTC (link)

It had been months now, since they had been cut off from Heaven. They never should have sent the entire garrison here. The information that had led them to the city had come either falsely or too late, and by the time they realised this, they were trapped, along with seven million people and some spare. They had gotten no closer to finding an explanation than they were on Day One. Without communication and ever thinning threads to Heaven's resources, they were forced to rely on themselves and their own Grace. To act without orders . . . such a thing had never happened before. Even Anna had seemed less than certain and she always knew what to do.

That was only the beginning of their concern. There was a steady stream of Travellers arriving from alternate futures, many foreign even to their knowledge. Some desired only to return home, but others had proven themselves hazardous to the principal universe. At least, it had given the garrison something to busy themselves with, until a more suitable solution could present itself.

The man who had prayed for supplication was lying sprawled on the floor of a public lavatory, colour draining fast with the growing pool of scarlet around him. The skirt of Castiel's coat stirred silently as he knelt before the dying man. The angel carried the sky in his eyes as he peered at the face. This would be a minor figure in the coming war against Lucifer. But for the creature that should never have been here, the man would have lived. If there was any hesitation as he lay his hand on the man's crown, it was only because it was frowned upon to intervene in matters and consequences of free will. What if this was, after all, God's will? What if this was exactly as it should be? Without orders from above, he had no way of knowing.

In the next second, the deed was done. The skin had sealed where there had been gaping wounds before and the man would soon regain consciousness. Castiel stood with a worried look. Healing was one of those abilities tied to Heaven, and being that this tie threatened to cease to exist at any moment, it may well be that the next fatal victim could not be saved.

But as he made to leave, he caught a glimpse of himself in the looking glass by the sink. The association between the stranger in the mirror and his physical manifestation was not immediately made, but a glimmer of recognition dawned on him soon enough. Approaching it as though it were a portal to another world, he solemnly inspected the face that stared back at him. Yes, these features held familiarity, as expected of a vessel descended from the same bloodline, but it was not the one he had taken, of this he was sure.

Hearing the forgotten man arouse behind him, Castiel stalked out of the facility and into a packed floor. It was Happy Hour and overlapping chatter drifted from dozens of tables, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He wandered down the narrow mahogany aisle, unsure what it was that he was searching for. In his distraction, the trenchcoated brunet chanced to brush shoulders with a drunk in a black mood. Despite a haphazard apology, he found himself shoved against the nearest wall by a thick, strong arm. With the stench of alcohol hot in his breath, it was obviously a brawl and not a cravenly submission that the drunk wanted for. To his disappointment, the response he received was neither fight nor flight.

"I have no desire to harm you," Castiel declared, the same way he might have declared no, I don't want fries with that. This evoked a barking laughter from his aggressor.

"The little man doesn't want to harm me," the larger man made known to the room. With a rough shove, he released his quarry. Oblivious to where this was going, Castiel took this for the end of it, but found that his path was blocked by the man. "Go on then," the drunk insisted, opening himself up to an attack. "Hit me."

"Hit you?" Castiel echoed, confusion evident in his face. Was it not desirable to avoid pain? Why did this man want to be hit?

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roger_smith
2011-06-03 03:46 pm UTC (link)

When the conmotion started, Roger's first thought was to look the other way and finish his drink. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble and he was starting to wonder if his black suit stood out too much in this crowd, a little too formal for the early evening crowd. This lasted for about five seconds.

Setting up his glass on the table, he started putting on his black leather gloves - he didn't anticipate things getting violent yet, but better safe than sorry.

"Hey now," he said casually, addressing the taller man. "I don't think that's such a good idea. You start a fight, get kicked out of the bar and where's the fun in that? You don't want to stop having drinks and enjoying your day because of this guy, right?"

The man looking for a fight was a couple of inches taller, but he was drunk and Roger was sure he could take him if things got ugly. Still, he hoped talking would be enough.

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castieli
2011-06-03 10:32 pm UTC (link)

The interjection caused the muscular girth to turn with the tapered movement of a Godzilla tickled by a pebble. The drunkard was clearly immune to the dark suit's urbane charm. "Might be you shouldn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong, if you want to keep it. Or might be it'll be you and me taking this outside."

Castiel examined the interaction with a distinctly third-party curiosity, but reached out for the thickset wrist when the man took a threatening stride towards the mediator. "Winebibbers shall come to ruin. It is written." Whereas a Saint would have delivered much the same message in a more tactful way, the angel's purpose had never been to perch on individual shoulders for comfort, and it had left him utterly unpractised in rhetoric. "You should not seek solace in the cause of your wife's infidelity."

The man blinked slowly, his alcohol addled brain still processing the words and linking them together. Then his eyes widened in sudden erroneous understanding. "You," he spat. "You're the other man!" How else could he know about his marital troubles?

Without wasting another breath, the heavy frame assailed, fist first, but Castiel side-stepped with ease and barred the weight with an arm, preventing its collision with the wall. Under the cover of their entangled limbs, his fingers touched between the man's wrathful brows, and the body went as slack as a potato sack. He released the bulk unceremoniously. The man would awake in due time without harm.

When he lifted his head back up at the room, several tables around them had gone silent, and a couple of patrons and the bartender were poised to break up the fight. "This man has had too much to drink," he announced. "Someone should see to him."

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roger_smith
2011-06-07 03:48 pm UTC (link)

Roger didn't even flinch at the gorilla's reaction. He remained calm on the outside as the bigger man took a step foward. Let him think size gave him an edge. Then the other man intervened and all Roger could do was watch him take care of the big one. He frowned as the gorilla went down. In all his years in the force - and his later years working on his own, he had rarely seen a man go down that fast with so little effort.

When the man in the trenchcoat spoke Roger was one of the first to step forward and help move the guy to a distant booth. Afterwards he let others take over and went back to his seat. On the way over, he caught a glipmse of the man who had unwittingly started - and pretty much ended it all.

"You're good," Roger said casually as he took a seat and raised his already tepid drink in his direction. "Have you considered a career in negotiating?"

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castieli
2011-06-09 12:43 am UTC (link)

Castiel's position was a strange one—a very strange one. Even for an angel, it was not every day that one found oneself, quite suddenly and inexplicably, no longer oneself as one remembered it to be only yesterday. The vessel that contained his celestial essence had changed without so much as a polite hello. Not to speak of the essence itself, which was plainly from a different time, though when, precisely, could not be said.

There were Travellers from the future, yes, some even from alternate futures or from the opposite direction entirely in the linear representation of time. But none, so far as he had seen, shared his predicament. Was he from the future or was he not? If he was, then how was it that he could recall yesterday as it had been and nothing of his own time?

Whilst pondering these thoughts, he felt the Good Samaritan at his elbow. His thoughts were already long gone from the drunk, so it was a moment before he caught on to the fact that the mediator was complimenting him on a job well done. "We do not negotiate," was the content of a very blunt press release. His face remained ever inscrutable without a wink of movement staining it.

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	roger_smith 2011-06-13 01:54 pm UTC (link)
	We? Roger glanced around. The man seemed to be alone. He took a sip of his drink, frowned and placed it back on the table before gesturing at the bartender for another one. "I guess that leaves more work for me," he said casually. "I'm Roger Smith and I'm a professional negotiator." He paised, waiting for the man to introduce himself. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

castieli
2011-06-13 07:50 pm UTC (link)

Castiel said nothing for a moment, silently (a little creepily, one might think) regarding this professional negotiator who called himself Roger Smith.

"You are not from this time," he observed bluntly, when he spoke at last. He stared intently at the negotiator, radiating with a solemnity best befit Holy Communion than a casual drink down at the pub. "Perhaps you recognise this face?" It was a long shot, but as of now, the Travellers were his only leads.

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roger_smith
2011-06-13 08:28 pm UTC (link)

Roger was used to long pauses. He remained calm and casual, at least on the outisde. He did raise an eyebrown when the man pointed out Roger's situation.

"I guess you could say that," Roger said coolly. He studied the man's face carefully. "And I'm afraid I've never seen you before. Or at least I don't remember." Roger's memories were still blurry at points and he'd rather leave them that way. But he couldn't help wondering who the stranger was.

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	castieli 2011-06-13 08:46 pm UTC (link)
	"That is unfortunate," Castiel remarked in the same monotoned gravity, but did not appear to be affected by the response for the better or for the worse. Having learnt nothing of import, he was of the mind to part ways when the negotiator's addendum about not remembering caught his attention. "Do you regularly experience problems with your memory?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	roger_smith 2011-06-21 01:39 am UTC (link)
	"Just like everyone else," Roger said, frowning slightly. Could this man know about Paradigm? "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name." (Reply to this) (Parent)

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