squint; challenge. “who said i’m n o t sam?” didn’t recall claiming any such thing; may just continue with charade.
As he challenges her, her eye brow raises then she rolls her eyes. “With all due respect, Sam is human. You arent.” She quips back, folding her arms, looking up at him. “And he isnt this…riddle driven either.”
kind of true. sam winchester was such a goody-goody. it was exausting. “maybe i got better. sam 2.0. i got riddles, i got power. i got two and a half extra inches of height and a bigger ding dong. the gamma radiation did a smash hit home runner.”
"So," She doesn't bother asking if it's okay to join him. War just slides into the chair across the table and gets straight to the point. "You're an angel then?"
pause; if there was a word for a side eye given from the front: this was it. face tightens; eyes flicker. mouth smacks; quietly. “ e y u p . ” slid; like oil from spoon. lip curls. “you’re kind of ruining my milkshake.”
Xander snickers at the response. Though this certainly isn’t a demon, whoever this is certainly has the humility of one.
“Name’s Xander, now what’s yours?” he replies, raising a brow. They could be dodging the question. It wouldn’t surprise him. Who or whatever this is isn’t human. Many beings find their names sacred.
It’s still worth a shot.
laugh; soft; amusement sits heavy on one side; crooking smile. could see conversational prodding. not exactly subtle. eyebrows jump. “samael.”
names w e r e sacred; however; angels: fairly well known; at least; his siblings were. collecting prayers like eggs in baskets. power. to trap; summon: f u l l name was needed. hard to unearth; as he’d been sent to hell while the f i r s t war against heaven happened. his presence had mostly fallen to unknown; & enjoyed incomplete anonymity.
“Hello you!” Azrael squealed excitedly, stepping one step closer before running towards him and all but lunging herself at him and hugging him tightly, her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. “Probably both,” She replied quietly and tightened her grip for a few seconds before letting go.
The blonde scrunched up her nose before smiling widely and shaking her head. “Never could do as good a job as you, but I should get some credit for trying, I reckon.”
in heaven; once upon a time: samael was emotionless. stoic; ruthless. dry to the point of biting. presence only felt in the heaviness of ether; as he rarely spoke. even angels felt relief when he inevitably turned away to some other task; & ceased listening. in hell; let’s not talk about it. but on earth he’d learned drama; humor; & with most he would c a r e e n to the ground in a show of being a b s o l u t e l y crashed over.
luckily; azrael was strong enough not to hurt herself by flinging onto an angel who had similar give to a metal rod without prior precautions. d i d manage a strangled noise (something like waa-) before being smothered; a slight stagger for effect; & he hugged back; twirling around with grace. rarely hugged; didn’t o c c u r to him; but enjoyed; flowers blooming in fragrance; high spirits sweetening scent.
“i have a lot of practice.” grin; prodding her on the nose; gentle. “what kind of stuff did you get into? curse bombing? zoo releasing? did you block the suez canal again?”
“hey bestie! travels were good. did a lot of hot springing. really took me back to that primordial ooze phase of creation, you know? anyway, didn’t really do that much collecting except for this bracelet i made out of woven cord and all the teeth i knocked out from the bar fights. you can have it if you like, i even polished all the little nuggets.”
Xander blinks as he stares for what's probably a little too long at the man in front of him. But his aura is... odd, to say the least. It's fucking powerful in a way that he's never seen before. It's dark but not demonic, pitch black as the night sky, and reeks of death. He's intrigued to say the least.
"Okay, who are you," because he's gotta fucking know!
staring is par for the course; angel; archangel; fantastic hair; over six feet & six inches. wears either all black; or the most eye catching outfit imaginable. attention is both a right & taken for granted.
therefore; doesn’t notice until question; drawing quizzical gaze. magic clung to this boy like the stickiness of clay & it drew smile. samael l o v e d witches: considered himself unofficial patron. that & murderers.
“i’m the cutest motherfucker in here, that’s who i am.” nobody could claim he’s humble. “who are y o u ?”
“hey hummingbird.” grin. “did you really? i don’t know if i should commend you on good taste or worry over your choices.” bit of both?
d i d miss her too; showed in softened smile. “i’m fine. not in hiding or anything, just hanging around. how’ve you been while i was out? holding up the chaos mantle for me?”
your cute thing -- Noir is drawing Samael in an extravagantly fancy Hawaiian shirt and is currently struggling to spell his name to finish the piece off.
noir; enigma. no doubt feeling was mutual: often seemed confused by samael’s antics. they were unncessary; was the point. where others were put off by silence; expressionless guise of mask; had noticed; deciding to hang around more often; samael had first been intrigued; then charmed. read into hesitations; head inclines; footsteps; easy; even without peering past mask. felt like intrusion; didn’t bother.
however; angels: an emotionless species; for most part. lack of such; outwardly held little importance; souls spoke louder than words. tones played to reaper ears alone; should he decide to listen. language often whispered in shadow; should one care to look. besides; for a being (him) who newly dealt in expression; voice; style; emotion; there was i n t a n g i b i l i t y about someone who absorbed in the face of cacophony. samael: a gale; roaring past; through. noir: a chain link fence; mostly unmoved; rather than bowled over; & picked up the leaves left behind to ponder.
feet up on table; deft fingers flying over puzzle cube; picked up somewhere & taken out in quiet moment. click click click of plastic being solved; tangled once more- sang with scratch of pencil. music. that noir felt comfortable enough to create in his presence answered a question ignored. h e ’ d considered them friends; but had it been reciprocated?
change in air; catching notice. frustration like growing black cloud overhead. even looked up for a second; almost expecting to see it. turn; hip to chair; messy posture affording glance over shoulders. “ooh” quiet admiration; now faced with details of a very f a n t a s t i c shirt; which he may need to find now. leaned farther; chair squeaking under weight. he’d gotten as far as ’m’ in the ’s-a-m’. in another instance- wouldn’t assume; but what with the shirt & their afternoon companionship: he would. “hmm, yeah it’s pretty tricky. i got so many names it’s bonkers bananas. but people have different spellings and languages so you just got to roll with the punches.” wasn’t the best at comfort. death did not have stellar bedside manner. “usually today i go with ’s-a-m-a-e-l’.” pointed; at paper. then written down: on napkin pulled from pocket; slid carefully in front of hand. attempt at help; no pity detected.
cube forgotten; appears in front of table with sound like gum s n a p . squat; chin on tabletop for name completion. “can i see it??” barely waits for agreement: read; doesn’t-(angels often bulldoze; in this case it’s simple excitement) before replacing paper with wind up duck: retrieved from yet another jacket pocket. it waddles across new space while art is examined; every line; colour; decision. handled carefully; like a piece of fragile history.
when gaze returns to noir it’s bright; almost backlit. smile reflection. “can i have this? i’d like to put it up in my house.” has the prefect spot: over the mantle.
