(2013) open rp post

[181]

permanent open rp post

new year, new post.
❧ select one of my characters (or one that you know I play but isn't on the list)
❧ leave a prompt: pictures work best; lyrics, scenarios of your own creation, etc.
❧ reply as many times as you want.
❧ the apocalypse finally happens.

❧ please note that I am extremely backtag friendly and will be backtagging these threads until the cows come home. and I'm always really eager to do things even if this post is found months after it's posted. also lol sometimes i may take a bit to get to them since some characters are harder for me to think up things and require some canon review! sorry for the wait, i'll make you a vegemite sandwich in the interim.

Comments

tvd, but surprise me!

[afieldsmedal]

[ Turns out there are no self-help books on dealing with the supernatural. No serious ones, anyway; the three she buys have entire portions dedicated to werewolves, but straight off the bat one mentions silver bullets kill werewolves (wolfsbane bullets, she knows), one states that all werewolves have full wolf forms (only alphas do, she knows), and one says they all have red eyes (again, only alphas). So ultimately, Lydia walks away from her $45 purchase ultimately unsatisfied and invites Stiles to go into the woods with her and burn them. It's on this occasion that she thinks gives him the idea to buy her a subscription to one of those trashy supernatural themed magazines; the ones full of stories of alien abduction and rectal probing. She's downright shocked the first time she receives a booklet and is convinced the mailman had gotten the wrong address, but it is her name on the cover. ]

[ She bitches at Stiles for the first three months worth, but slowly begins to let them just pile up in the corner of her bedroom and ignore them. They're never about werewolves, anyway. Not until July, when the front page is splayed with images of men and women with Hypertrichosis, and the title "Werewolf Syndrome! Medical Explanation Or Real Life Supernatural Phenomenon?". It's a droll piece of literature, but she reads it anyway, and finds - more interesting than the accounts of people with excessive body hair - stories of vampires. ]

[ Lydia's seen Dracula movies; her first Halloween with Jackson they'd gotten smashed at a party and come home to fool around on the couch and watched AMC on the flatscreen in his living room. Dracula'd been on, and later when he'd fallen asleep and she'd had a stomach ache, Interview With A Vampire had come on. So she knew the general gist, but when the supernatural rag mentions Mystic Falls and a bell goes off in her head, Lydia's interest is successfully piqued past the level of Brad Pitt with long hair. ]

[ All eyes had turned to Google, and when she brought up a map, she was shocked to find Mystic Falls only two days drive South of Beacon Hills. It's a whim when she packs a suitcase and begs her mom for the keys for a week, playing the victim of divorce card so hard she doubts she could play it again until she graduated. But she wins in the end, and takes off with her debit card and phone without telling anyone but Allison, and even then all she says is "I'm going on a vacation". ]

[ In the end, she doesn't know what she's searching for. Maybe some Victims Of The Supernatural Anonymous meeting, because everyone back home is still too busy to sit down at talk to her. Jackson calls her his anchor, and that's supposed to be good, but he spends so much time with Derek Hale and keeps talking about going away for a while; Scott and Allison may not be dating, but they see an awful lot of each other; Stiles is Stiles and brings her hot chocolate when she tells him she's feeling sad, but if she told him how she felt very often, even he might catch on to how lonely she feels. In Mystic Falls, it's a different kind of lonely. A loneliness that comes from being surrounded by faces she doesn't know, instead of faces she knows well and just refuse to look her way anymore. It's refreshing. ]

[ She heads for the library first, but when she asks the lady behind the counter for any information on vampires or werewolves, she just looks at her like she's a child and points her towards the fiction section. Lydia makes her best of the reference section, but it's disappointingly empty for a town that eared a three page spread in Supernatural Monthly, and by 6:30, she's bored and gives up. There's a grill in town, and Lydia is utterly sick of burgers and cheap complimentary breakfast croissants, so after a little direction, she heads there. She gets a table all to herself, and it's disappointingly lonely all over again, so she orders a salad and chicken breast, pulls out her phone and sends a few texts to people who should be her best friends, but that she knows won't text her back for a good few hours. ]

-

( ooc; let me know if this works for you, or if there's anything you'd like changed! )

little wolf

[drogon]

bows please forgive me for this is late and awkward; arya is set somewhere in season three au.

[distrust]

[ a dog is no wolf, arya is most certain of that. even if he fights bravely (bloodily) and scavenges for food (thievery), the hound was not a wolf. the hound was a fierce dog, perhaps the fiercest of them all, but not even he could protect arya from all that which chased her. quiet as a shadow, quick as a deer, arya's worst enemy was on the backs of her heels. and so, she slinks off into the night, into the darkness of a woods, when she sees there is no other place to run. arya of winterfell is on her heels and weasel or arry can't quite sit still. the dog is no threat to a wolf, but a wolf is to another. ]

[ on the outskirts of the woods is a village. a small, rundown place, with a few huts and a few people. they're noisy, she thinks, until she finds herself crouching beneath a bush, and watches as men — dozens of them, all identical, with their armour pristine and their movements in sync — trample over the commoners as if they were the grass blades beneath their own feet. (though, the commoners fight back, stupidly, she thinks, with their stupid spears and their stupid shouts — in the name of the king!.) the large stone structure behind the village, where she undoubtedly presumes the lord and lady of the rundown and very small river and bridge live, creaks and groans as shouts and fire are launched into the air. ]

[ she hears a loud scream — something from up above — but will not catch it until it's over. she plans to stay within the woods — deep in the heart of it, away from the fighting, but finds herself cut off by a man with no teeth. pushed further toward the outskirt of the woods, arya finds herself trapped. on instinct, she raises needle, pointy end towards the man, and spears him as if a fish. he collapses, hands pressed hard and tightly to his wound as blood trickles thickly from the hole within his flesh. arya steps back, stumbling over her own awkward feet, and begins to move as swift as a deer before she trips over a root and falls. with her knees scraped and bloodied, just like her hands, she's not sure how long she lays there, immobile, frightened, but when she pulls herself up, she sees the aftermath of the fight. ]

[ blood and smoke is everywhere, licking the trunks of trees and the grass blades beneath their feet. up within the sky, dragons reign freely, their wings flapping so hard and violently arya is certain she feels the earth shake. and when she dusts off her hands, cut and bloodied with her own and that of a stupid man with a stupid stick, she sees her. now would be best to run — best to hide and keep running, all the way back to winterfell like a good wolf. within the midst of the flames, she sees her walk, untouched by the very thing that should destroy her. she watches as the woman walks through the flame and does not burn. ]

it is lovely, you are lovely, and you always have my forgiveness.

[drogon]

[ unlike those fabled cruel kings that rule with a heavy hand and a heart cloaked in ice, she takes no pleasure in observing as the fields run red with streams of blood. screams punctuate the air, war cries and wailing alike; it is a quaint city that she loathes to see reduced to its current state, devoured by a dancing flame and the insolence of its own inhabitants. i will do you no harm, she had said, on the condition that they obeyed her requests. water, a decent meal, and shelter were all she had asked of them, but their fealty to a malicious boy-king had rid them of their virtues and led them astray — had forced them to raise their spears and daggers to herself and her men, and before she had truly processed the abrupt turn in events, her own men had formed an impenetrable wall around her, slaying all those who dared to inch closer to the dragon queen.

the city is in ruins now, a ghost of the idyllic village it had once been, with its flourishing crops, clear and shining streams, and its quiet forests. her dragons continue their assault overheard, ensuring that no remnants of the land it once was are left in their path of destruction. it is a sight she wishes to turn away from, but cannot; the young girl she had once been would have crumpled into a distraught heap at the display of violence, but she forces herself to look at the bodies strewn at her dainty feet now. she is no longer a girl ruled by her brother, but a woman who has sprouted scales and wings, and while she has instilled within herself some semblance of mercy, there is no kindness she can spare for those that would favour their foolish king so fiercely as to threaten the safety of herself, her children, and the men in her service.

but when she walks through the flames, untouched and pristine amongst the ruins, she sees no threat in the child her gaze falls upon. she looks to be a fragile, frightened thing, but dany no longer allows appearances to deceive her. even so, the sight of a young girl makes her heart and features grow softer; she is not a mother in any traditional sense, but her heart cries out for those that are lost within this world, alone amidst falling castles and crumbling aspirations, just as she is.

she is cautious enough to linger only a few feet away, but she bends, hand extended, and locks her eyes to the strange girl's gaze. ]

Come here. I mean you no harm.

[ it is an order. her tone implies as much, as gentle as it may be. ]

kingslayer

[drogon]

THE BEST AU EVER

[inviolable]

[ a lion does not bow to any other animal. but the dragon is not an animal, is it? he had always thought it to be a myth. king aerys may have called himself a dragon, but all jaime saw was a rat; rats were cowards, were they not? they fed on the scraps other wild animals left behind. and the wild animals of westeros had feared a rat, disguised in the scales of a dragon, with its fiery breath and awful temper. they had almost let that rat burn it to the ground, if it hadn't been for the lion. ]

[ but it's because of the lioness that he's here, in the dragon's clutches. he had made a mistake, had found himself caught between her claws, and hadn't been freed since. he's not sure if he's merely forgotten; a distant memory that haunts the walls of king's landing. the kingslayer dead at the hands of a forgotten queen. but she's not a queen, not really. ]

[ when he looks at daenarys targaeryen, he doesn't see a rat. he knows what he sees, but he never dares to say it. a lannister pays their debts, but they never turn traitor on their own kind. ]

[ the land burns. smoke fills the air. and jaime thinks of westeros, of the mad king's desire to burn it to the ground. he wonders if it would've smelt like this; victorious, with the sharp tangy scent of despair clinging around them thickly. he wonders if what he had done, all those years ago, was for nought, for the mad king's mad daughter has done just as he had desired. except, this is not westeros, and she had not used wildfire. she had used empathy; she had given them a chance, had agreed to negotiate some sort of understanding, yet, because she wore a skirt, she was undermined as a leader. and, so, the mother of dragons had struck. and, in turn, so had the lion who had been led from his den and into the belly of said dragon. ]

[ he looks at her now. a slight smile tugs at his lips. he's not sure what it is that he's feeling. it most certainly isn't pride at a victory well-earned. it's not contentment at shifting from a prisoner to being in a position that almost resembles that of the kingsguard; he still wears shackles around his wrists, even if she doesn't lock them into place or slip them over his hands anymore. ]

I fear the stories do not do you any justice. [ he doesn't say your grace, although, he does say it with his typical humour. but the girl who robert had been so desperate to put to death had grown into a force to be reckoned with. he glances up into the sky, seeing the dark silhouettes of her dragons take ownership of the heavens that are rightfully hers in this very moment. ]

i'm crying over how beautiful this is already

[drogon]

[ she had wanted to tear him to shreds the first time they had met, somehow still calm in the face of the man who had betrayed her own father and helped the usurper secure the throne for himself while her mother and brother fled as far as they could to escape a worse fate. the throne is mine by right, she had argued, though the words had seemed lodged in her throat the moment the kingslayer had painted a bloody image of the deeds her father had planned, content to burn westeros to the ground in his maddened, fiery fury. how very much like viserys had father had proven himself to be — but it was rhaegar's steps she would hope to follow in to this day, noble and brave ( noble and brave to a fault, perhaps, but she shakes that thought from her mind ).

she does not see a traitor when she looks upon jaime lannister now, attention drawn away from the flames in the distance. even freed of his shackles, he has not betrayed her — not as selmy or jorah had. she wants to ask if he thought her a monster for burning their city; she had presented them and opportunity only for them to so foolishly threaten and disrespect her, as though she were meant to be ashamed of her womanhood ( the same way others had made her feel ashamed from the very start, using the word woman as if it were meant to be a verbal weapon, as if being a woman gave her little right to rule, as if she were weak ).

but she doesn't ask the question that's on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be voiced. would he not have refused to follow her? would he not have stopped her as he had her father, a man who had been poisoned with rage and the thrill of power? and yet here the lion stands by the side of the dragon, faintly smiling in her direction. ]

I fear the stories do not do you any justice. [ she repeats it back to him, the words gentle and genuine. kingslayer, they say with disdain, but she sees a different man before her eyes. she smiles as she observes him, ignoring the sounds of her dragons making their ascent overheard, silver hair billowing in the wind caused by their flight.

she pauses. a hand touches his shoulder to convey what she does not say in this moment — thank you — before she dares to ask the question that has been plaguing her since their eventful evening. ]

Would you return if given the chance?

[ to westeros, she means; would he return to the life he had left behind if an opportunity was presented in front of him? perhaps the answer is not one she would wish to hear, but curiosity has struck down countless men. ]

( katherine )

[veritatem]

hope you don't mind some human katherine~

[manipulative]

[ new orleans is the last place katherine wishes to be. she understands that it's suicide to be in klaus' territory, but katherine's on a suicidal mission, anyway. she has become blind and deaf since having the cure shoved down her throat, doesn't feel like herself even in her own skin. her hair feels matted, her fingers feel thick with the blood of the people she's killed, and she feels something sitting heavily on her chest that has been there before, but she's managed to push it down with strength unnatural to a human. ]

[ she seeks him out because she has no one else. katherine pierce, all alone in the world, exactly as she had started. ]

[ what she had thought would happened has happened — henchmen for klaus have her cornered in an alleyway, after having purposefully driven her into it, and her worst nightmare of becoming a pawn once again is being relived. it's rather poetic — more-so for him than for her — that he finds her in an alley. with his hands covered in blood, much similar to how she imagines hers to be, if the blood hadn't been washed away over the centuries, with hearts in his hands and his suit as immaculate as ever. ]

[ this chess board may have klaus as the king, but perhaps elijah is a rogue knight in white. ]

Elijah. [ and she hates how weak her voice sounds, of how she is breathless when she would be collected and turned to stone in his presence. ]

[smarter]

i hear you wanted this cross canon cr

[disparage]

[ caroline lets herself float in the water of the lake. sometimes, she wishes to drift out to sea, to be swallowed by the currents. ariel had had it so right, wanting to be free of the confinements of her underwater prison. she knows she'll never quite escape what being a vampire brings her — klaus and death, klaus and werewolf bites, klaus and unhappiness — but she does know that she can run from it, just like katherine did, for centuries until it sneaks up on her. and so, caroline forbes, never the runner, never the one to admit that something is wrong, does so with her sneakers on. ]

[ a road trip with stiles after his graduation — and in the middle of her semester of college — is the best way to begin her life as a fugitive. she's not quite sure if she'd call herself a fugitive, but she's running from her pain, from the ghost of tyler, and from the promises of klaus and a future spent with him. maybe that's why she's pulled the car over at the sight of a lake, stripped off her jacket, taken her ipod and phone out of her pockets, and let herself drift for what feels like hours but might only be one. she tries to wash it away, but it only seems to sit on her chest in an attempt to drown her. ]

Are you still alive? [ she knows she can simply turn her head to see stiles, but she keeps her gaze on the canopy of the trees, shielding the sun from her view. he'd been on a rock, but she'd heard movement — sloppy sort of movements, rocks slipping and colliding with one another, but that, for all she knows, could've been a wild animal (like a tiny, tiny lizard). she knows that she can disappear, take her eyes off of him, and he will still be there, that one, damn constant thing that never seems to shift at all in her life. ] Or did the sun vaporise you already?

katherine.

[exvampirate]

have your cinderella tale, benny

[manipulative]

[ katherine tempts benny to a party — or perhaps it's one of the party-goers who tempts him. usually, she likes to take the credit for someone's appearance at one of these many parties, but katherine isn't concerned by that. all she cares for is benny's appearance — and she knows he's here, even if he arrived a little late. she ensures to not make pointed eye contact with him, but she knows he can feel her gaze on his back, can even feel the hairs rise on his arms herself. she wants to break him in half, smash him like glass, and see him try and stitch himself back into the calm monster he had been before. ]

[ it takes time, pulling all of those walls down, to smash away all of his powers of resistance. he's confident in himself, and she wants to break it, to make him realise he's so much more when he gives in. ]

[ this is a game of cat and mouse that she likes to play with him. since there's no stefan and no damon, benny's her new target — and she quite likes him. scruffy and southern, he's as handsome as they come, but as stubborn as a rock — and she likes it, the challenge, and so she comes and goes, sticks to him like glue, to only disappear for small periods of time. she wants him to miss her like he should miss giving into his true urges. it's a game of puppeteer, but she's trying to not be obvious and pull his strings. that wouldn't be fun. ]

[ she disappears for a long time with a handsome yet forgettable man on her arm. in one of the quieter rooms, she's compelled him to be compliant, like a toy, and while that usually bores her within the first few minutes, this game of cat and mouse certainly provides a spark to tonight's otherwise mundane activities. she's torn into his flesh at his arm; she knows that benny, while strong enough to resist the lure of blood, won't be able to bite back the curiosity she knows is building in the back of his skull. ]

[ she waits patiently for him, sitting on a couch, legs crossed, and a man draped over her. he's half off the couch, long legs sprawled in both directions, with a bleeding wrist and a neck that's buried under a thick stream of blood. her eyes are dark, but the tell-tale veins underneath her eyes haven't popped to the surface. ]

[ she smirks. ] I was concerned you wouldn't find me before midnight.

whoops. meant to put cora.

[aerodynamically]

future adventures between lizard boy and wolf girl!!!!

[resent]

[ as a wolf, cora attacks him. ]

[ but first: derek never trains him right, simply gives him the ten minute briefing of how to be a werewolf before sending him off to london. somehow, she gets in contact with jackson purely by accident — and that's how it starts, them communicating, him asking her wolf questions that would otherwise be deemed awkward to be asking anyone. at first, she doesn't tell derek; she doesn't tell derek at all. he's not jackson's alpha, he's not even an alpha — and that's something she doesn't give much thought to, if only the moments in the emails and texts she exchanges with jackson, the guilt she feels over derek losing the only thing that he has ever truly earned in his life. ]

[ it's a few years later, when they've all graduated, and cora's actually in college (from derek's insistence that she be a person rather than a ghost) that jackson returns home, but rather than go to his home and be the rich jerk that everyone used to know, he comes to her as a friend. he sleeps in her dorm, in the bed of a roommate that's never really there, and is a normal type of guy that it irritates her. she spars with him, tries to tell him his weak-spots, while he spits back hers, pushes and shoves him the only way she knows how because she learned this from derek, on how to survive with others, and she learned how to survive with herself in the six years she spent away. he's always there, patient, which is odd, and lingering, which is even odder. ]

[ it irritates her so much, his determination to be normal, to stick around like a leech, is the reason why she tells him to come for a walk in the nearby woods and wolfs out — literally, knowing he can, too — and jumps him, pushing him into a fight that she ends up relenting when he tosses her into a bush. she shifts back into herself, cora hale, skinny girl with too many invisible scars, in her underwear, pulling her long shirt out of the bushes. ]

You're too slow. If I wasn't going easy on you, you'd be dead.

caroline.

[iusti]

[disparage]

[ caroline's heart — or what's left of it — thumps hard in her chest. there's a vampire in town, one dean wants to hunt down now not later, and all caroline can do is think if this is some sort of vampire cannibalism, going after her own kind. except, dean doesn't really know that, does he? he's acting super weird and — ]

[ he opens an old, wooden box. inside, on the bottom, rests a blood-red cushion, housing a blade, small containers attached to the side, and a bible. on the roof are knives, of all sorts, and a cross, tied to it with rope. caroline watches as dean assesses it, as if it's a gun, or his damn car. she has a feeling this isn't the first time he's seen the contents of the box, but there's a lot she's uncertain about when it comes to dean these days. he's been distant in ways that she's not used to; he's always been as open as one can get dean, always so different with her than he is with every other person he ever interacts with. she's wondering if the ground beneath them has shifted and she hasn't noticed, or if she's going crazy, like killing a hunter and being cursed kind of crazy. ]

[ she's not quite sure what this is, this attitude shift, if there even is one, but since dean's made a show of drinking holy water, but he hasn't passed the flask to her, she has to wonder. it makes her antsy, so antsy that she leans in and pulls the bible out. demons can't touch a bible, right? ]

[ caroline grips it tightly in her hands, and then proceeds to wave it in dean's face. ] I'm me, okay? Can we get on with all of this? You're wasting time.

piper. surpriseeeeee.

[iusti]

have a mid-s4 piper, no leo whoo

[molecules]

[ dean's mad, which is understandable. piper'd be mad, too, if it were her. but he doesn't understand, not like she does, that she had done it in order to protect him. this was the only way she could, what with him banning her from ever taking part in their hunts again — she'd gotten hurt, on the verge of death (what's new?) and, for some reason, it'd spooked him like she'd never seen him before. ]

[ she cast the spell without his knowledge — or anyone else's. but, of course, with every spell that had even an inch of personal gain, the consequences that followed were big and heavy. ]

[ she'd cast an invincibility spell upon dean. he'd had too many cuts and scrapes, too many dances with death, that piper couldn't quite trust him to not end up dead one day. she didn't want to get a phone call from sam or bobby telling her that dean was dead — and that, this time, he wasn't coming back. she'd lost too many people, her mom, her grandmother, her father, almost her sisters countless times. she'd lost prue to only gain paige — but she didn't want that to happen with dean, to lose him only to find someone else. ]

[ maybe she should've scrubbed it from the wall in the attic where she'd written it in chalk, but she hadn't thought dean would've made the connection. she'd underestimated his ability to connect the dots when it came to her, just as she had when it came to his own survival skills. but she couldn't risk losing him — she can't. ]

I get why you're mad, Dean. I understand. [ she wrings her hands together. his back is much scarier than his front; she can't read him when she can't see his face. the attic, for once, feels too small, too cluttered, and she can definitely feel his anger seeping into every bit of the room. ] But it was the only way I could make sure you were safe.

morgana

[assailed]

[smirks]

[ smirky morgana is unforgiving. ]

[ uther refuses to recognise her as his daughter in fear of threatening arthur's position to the crown. morgana had never had any interest in being queen of camelot — she had been content to be lady morgana, in the shadows, belonging to a family who wanted her. but after uther's refusal, hatred began to swirl in morgana's heart, and what she had never longed for became her ultimate goal. her father would not give her what she wanted, and she was determined to ensure what he wanted never came to pass. ]

[ killing arthur has never been an option. he is her brother, her confidante, her friend. but she wishes to make uther pay, for keeping her in the dark, for lying to her, for not caring for her at all, for all the lives he took so selfishly. he'd denied her the life she had wanted for his own reasons, and she was determined to not let it rest. ]

[ she rides out into the forest to him. he's her only confidante, the one who she can confess what puzzles, troubles, and angers her. killian has been such an odd confidante, but he belongs nowhere, just as she. she had met him while under morgause's tutelage, and, for some reason, he had lingered, like a ghost, always in the forest when she needed him. ]

[ she's ranting. ] I want him dead. I want him to feel the pain that I have. I want all of Camelot to see him for what he truly is — a murderer.

You know who

[thornybeauty]

cora? also, sorry, bit shaky on the details wrt meg.

[handpick]

[ cue thunder and lightning. abaddon screams. ]

[ abaddon isn't a wear-one-outfit-once type of gal. she uses the time travelling door — and it's accompanying spell — again. it has served it's purpose once before, bringing her to a time where things must change. somewhere along the way, throughout the years, hell had lost track of its soldiers. one had gone awry, crazy with power, while others remained oblivious to this slap in the face. as one of lucifer's handpicked knights, it's her duty to uphold order within hell. ]

[ in order to achieve this, she needs an army. word through the grape vine is that one of her potential lieutenants had been murdered in cold blood by the self-proclaimed king of hell himself. she hears of her resilience, a year under torture, not once uttering a single slip of information — dead before her time, before her use had expired. abaddon finds it particularly tragic when a soldier falls too early. so, she uses that spell (and if a demon can't spell cast, she manipulates someone to do so for her), and that door, although, a different one this time — she doesn't quite have access to the one that had granted her access to this year — she walks straight through it to a couple of months back. ]

[ it's dark and damp. the street is abandoned, except for a vehicle she spies. she sees two figures up ahead — and a very familiar car. she thinks of taking the car out with a simple flick of her wrist, but there's a storm bigger than those two idiots coming, and abaddon knows that they'll serve a purpose much later. what she does not let stand is the salesman before her. with confident, long strides, she ascends upon them. ]

[ coming up behind crowley, she penetrates his back with her hand, grabbing at his spine, before removing her bloodied fingers. she grabs him by the back of his collar, tossing him to the side with such force that he seems to disappear into the brush. the demon before her is broken and beaten, blood covering almost every decipherable feature of her face, but abaddon recognises her. an ally. ]

[ the blade that had been poised in crowley's hand is to the side, inches away from meg. he had dropped it during her assault on his insides. abaddon merely arches an eyebrow, glancing at it, her stance still tall and strong. she looks at her hands, now blood-red, blending with her nail polish, inspecting her work. ] Be a dear and grab that.

will take anyone, but specifically the "new boss."

[mulletrock]

♥ slight au for s9, apologies if this doesn't make sense/have correct facts

[handpick]

[ he doesn't openly state it's a truce, per se, but abaddon's been around the block a few times. she knows the shape of a truce, even if one describes it as something else. he asks she meet him at an abandoned building, one that had previously held a bar. he tells her through the only safe route he knows how — through someone else, where she inserts a part of herself inside of them to see what they've seen. it's clever and smart, but it ends with a bloodied body in the end, anyway. ]

[ the thing is, abaddon doesn't like the taste of truces. it means defeat, that she is not an abominable force. knights do not lay down their swords for a few simple words said between enemies. she does not trust truces. she has stabbed the winchesters in the back previously, and while they had their revenge with a case of cement, abaddon knows hunters are stubborn and grudgey beings. she does not want to walk into a trap, but she understands it's not a trap with the information he lets her have through their third party — the brother, whom she had seen such a display of affection for previously, is tiptoeing the line between earth and hell. and perhaps the true ruler of hell can help him. ]

[ sam winchester is on the brink of death. castiel has been clipped of his wings. and all of heaven is in uproar. there is no one left to help him; all their bridges are burned, all of their guardians are dead. abaddon knows her position on the chessboard, and she knows that dean winchester is very aware of it, too. a pawn cannot help another in their time of need. it's the queen, and the knight, that can. a make believe king cannot help — not when his playing is sloppy, filled with grudge tactics, and poorly articulated bloodshed. crowley's craftsmanship needs much work. ]

[ the bar is dark and quiet. it reminds her of the warehouse they had awoken her in, putting her back together as if she were humpty dumpty. this building has been abandoned, used to simply house those humans who have nowhere to go and no one to support. but he has a bottle of liquor in front of him at the table he sits on — or slouches. dean winchester's posture reminds her of one who is defeated. the men of the 1950s didn't wear their white flag so heavily, with a hunched back and a scowl on their faces. her heels click, echoing within the space. she's composed (literally, no stitching on her neck, no blood dripping from her face) while he's falling apart at the seams. ]

Hello, boys. [ she glances around, a tiny smirk on her red lips. ] My mistake. We seem to be down one.