lastrat | ♠ | 001

[Bond has been laying low, for the most part: investigating quietly, observing, looking for the Admiral and the Bridge and all the other things people initially told him he'd never see or find.

It galls him that they were right.

He's also spent his time half convinced that this is all a drug induced dream meant to obtain information from him. He still isn't sure either way, honestly, so when the video clicks on, Bond's face is inscrutable, because you're getting nothing from him, Quantum. When he talks, it's easy, smooth, because he is a very good bluffer.]

Suppose this is real. Suppose we are actually on a ship meant to cure us of our villainous ways. Tell me how it works. Tell me how often it works. And what do the wardens get out of it?

[He smiles, and it's easy but doesn't reach his eyes.]

While we're here, I've learned from my mistakes, 'Admiral.' [The inflection is small, but present: he really means Quantum.] Kindly send me back to live the quiet retired life, if you please. [There are much more important things than his immortal soul, or whatever the fuck this is supposed to be about, at stake after all.]

[Private to Ivy]

It strikes me that I may or may not owe you an apology.

[Private to Lark]

Heard anything?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He makes a small gesture with his hand, which is a small clue to how out of his element Bond is, because he rarely speaks with his hands.]

The shadows of your wings? Why not just show me the wings themselves?

If you - presuming you're human - were to look upon me in my true form, you would die.

Of course I would.

You told me you would believe if me if I offered proof, and now you are refusing to believe me and not asking for the aforementioned proof?

Would you feel the same way if I had said I was anything else? Perhaps I'm actually a minor god. Or an okami.

[It's a struggle not to roll his eyes, but he manages, and leans forward to keep eye contact.]

Do it, then.

I imagine you'll simply accuse of me planning some kind of technological display if I do it over the network. Where are you?

[He looks around, shifting the camera slightly so the bed he's sitting on is more visible.]

My room. I'll come to you. [Because like hell is he giving out his room number.]

I'm in the greenhouse.

[He doesn't go immediately, and doesn't reply. There are other conversations to finish, other people to observe, but he decides it would be stupid not to at least go take a look. So eventually, Bond is knocking at the green house door to be let in.]

[The door opens - Castiel is obviously not opening it. Rather, he's studying a particularly depressing plot in the greenhouse, some tulips which look a bit down on themselves at the moment. He looks over to Bond and tilts his head in greeting. When Bond enters, the door closes behind him.]

Please come here and confirm for me these tulips have not in any way been altered beforehand.

[He eyes it from over his shoulder as it closes, looking for springs, mechanisms, anything. That's unsettling, but he doesn't study it closely, and goes on to meet Castiel by the flowers. The request gets a snort, and he leans forward just slightly to look them over, even patting the soil to look for some buried mechanics.]

Seems unaltered, [he drawls.]

[He touches a finger to the tip of one of the wilting tulips. There's a soft light from his finger where he is making gentle contact with the flower, and seemingly at this light, the flower perks up again, standing straight, tall and colorful.]

That looks better, I think.

[He holds the hand out for inspection, should Bond so desire. His skin is slightly warmer than your average human, and there's no pulse in his wrist.]

[Well that was unexpected. For a long moment Bond just stares at the flower, eyes flitting down to the soil and over to Castiel's hand. It couldn't be real, but it wasn't a trick - but it had to be--

Breathing carefully, keeping them steady and calm, he reached for the angel's hand, and turned it about in his own; the lack of a pulse was almost immediately noticeable, especially as his own thudded uncomfortably in his ears.]

How did you do it?

The gift of life is one of the many gifts my Father gave His soldiers and messengers, the Heavenly Host. If you have wounds, I can heal them. It's no different to me then helping these tulips that have neglected being watered for too long.

[One of the consequences of his moping. But thinks are looking up these days, somehow. He gently takes the hand from Bond's grip and presses it into the soil. Then he closes his eyes. There's a kind of static in the air - it's hard to tell whether Castiel is glowing or the room has gotten darker, but something has definitely changed - and the rest of the tulips perk accordingly. He wipes the dirt off his hand with his jacket and offers the hand back.]

[He doesn't take it this time. Instead, James stands abruptly and takes a step back, eying the flowers and Castiel with no small amount of uncertainty. It could still be a trick - some mechanism he hadn't noticed, maybe, or something else the flowers are responding to--

Abruptly, he pulls one of his arms from his jacket, unbuttoning and rolling up the sleeve. There's a scrape on his arm, ugly not nothing to be concerned by; it would be gone inside a week. But he has to know for certain, so he holds his arm out toward Castiel.]

Heal it.

[Castiel takes Bond's arm in his hands, his touch gentle. He draws his palm up Bond's wound, and behind it there's no wound at all, like he simply erased it from the man's skin. The healing is slightly tingly, but moreso it's even warmer than Castiel's normal touch, soothing like a blanket on a cold day. There's no glow this time, though. He lets the hand go, letting his own hands fall.]

There.

[Bond wastes no time in prodding the flesh, looking for any hint of the wound, but there's nothing. Gone as if it never was, and he can't fathom it, not yet. So instead of thanking him, or saying anything at all, he carefully buttons his cuff and shrugs back into his jacket, silent save for the heartbeat hammering in his ears.]

Impressive, [he finally manages, reaching for any explanation other than he's a bloody angel of the Lord.]

Mm.

[He nods his head in acknowledgement. He doesn't look interested in rubbing in Bond's face or anything like that - just calm, confident and serene, with that same passive expression.]

Thank you for the opportunity, if nothing else.

Edited 2012-12-10 20:31 (UTC)

[Thank God - hah - for that, at least. With his clothes back in place, Bond just jerks his head in a nod, and turns to leave. He's never been decent with goodbyes, especially not when he's thrown. He waits till he's outside the greenhouse to rub at his arm, and wonder what the fuck just happened.]

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