( open post! ) voicetest → abaddon

[handpick]

what do:
→ drop a prompt - images or previously written scenarios work best for me.
→ not exactly what you'd call up to date so wiki info is my review #yolo
→ be backtag friendly because i'm taking over hell!

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[handpick]

[ the winchesters perform a ritual. they don't have an original bone in their body, but she can't blame them, considering whom they've come from. ]

[ though, she still finds herself rather surprised when she comes face to face with a ghost in the darkened alleyway. she hadn't been expecting him; perhaps the son, the one she hasn't met, the one who shaped two men of letters legacies into the ugly shape of a hunter. she's defeated both grandsons, torn them from their feet and tossed them into the brick walls, hard enough to split the cement keeping the blocks together. ]

[ abaddon twists her upper body with a smile. taking one step, then two, she stops. there is incredible distance between them, but abaddon can see every twitch of his muscles, every line showing his age on his face. henry winchester has a baby face, with smooth skin, unmarked; he's not a hunter, not like his descendants, and that, in a way, both thrills and disappoints her. pulling him apart will be as much fun as when she gets to his grandsons. ]

You Winchesters refuse to die. [ she smirks, takes one step before pausing again. it's a game of push and pull, of red light and green light. her gaze moves over him slowly, from his feet to his face. ] I admire that.

[deadletter]

Abaddon.

[The way he says it must be reminiscent of that first time he'd uttered her name to her. He remembers standing there with his grandsons, warning them of her, only to have the knight show them exactly why she was worth being warned about.

Winchester's fists clench at his side. He's never been a fighter, never had the occasion, and in that time, he'd come to know the face in front of him is supposed to be the same. Josie isn't made to house someone like Abaddon, she isn't made to fight like this. Her and Henry were going to be Letters and they were going to pass on the knowledge, and that was the plan

So much for the plan. Henry tries not to feel weak, but his limbs just don't want to respond like they should.]

You'll pardon me if I'm not flattered to know that. Now, if you don't mind, I'd very much appreciate if you could surrender my good friend.

[As if he's in any position to argue.]

[handpick]

[ she does quite like the sound of her name coming from him. henry. he'd looked upon her once with such softness, such kinship, that she sometimes thinks she misses the guise of josie. if only she had waited a little longer, had been able to twist the knife just a little tighter into his back before blowing her cover and trying to cut the heads off of the several headed snake. the men of letters were easy to kill; Winchesters, she's finding, are not. ]

[ she crosses her arms against her chest. arching her brow, she looks upon him with amusement apparent in the shape of her lips. ] And whom would that be? [ she can't quite help the smirk. out of place, out of time; henry winchester will, always, be years too late. ] All your good friends are dead.