Ataraxion IC Contact Post

[pocketfulofsouls]

(( This is a post in which you are calling Crowley's personal communicator on the Tranquility. ))

Comments

[rebelled]

[this isn't a message he particularly wants to send, but with Crowley being the only non-human from their world here, he knows has no other option right now]

HOware you feeling?

[pocketfulofsouls]

Are we friends now?

[ Even in text form, it's hard to suppress the implication of arrogance. He's not really trying, though, is he? ]

[rebelled]

No. nOw answerm y question.

[pocketfulofsouls]

Such concern. Makes me a bit suspicious.

Think I'm rather titillated, actually. I suppose you've heard the news?

[rebelled]

yes. Peoople are sick..

[Including a large number of His People, Dean being his biggest concern.]

[pocketfulofsouls]

And soon to be desperate, I imagine. Think it's about time to open shop.

[rebelled]

You can;t curethem.

[pocketfulofsouls]

[ Wait, what? ]

How do you know?

[rebelled]

[There's a few minutes delay first.]

i can't either.

[pocketfulofsouls]

Well, you've hardly got a soul to your name, birdbrain.

[rebelled]

I did when thissstarted.

[pocketfulofsouls]

When the illness started?

1/2

[rebelled]

Yes.

[rebelled]

[Another delay, and-]

IT's disappearing too quickly,.

[pocketfulofsouls]

[ Well, shit. What is this illness, that neither angel nor devil can cure? But maybe Castiel is lying about his power. Maybe what he had was the bottom of a barrel. Can he afford to believe him? Can he afford the risk of trying? ]

What is?

[rebelled]

THE souls.

[And with it his Grace. It's a feeling he knows all too well, and one he doesn't want to revisit.]

I neeed more.

[pocketfulofsouls]

I've been meaning to ask: Are you aware of the delete and arrow keys? Who taught you grammar? Dean?

[rebelled]

[Well fine. Watch as he switches to audio instead.

... It just takes him a few attempts to do it. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, slow, and with none of the strength that it usually holds.]

I need more, Crowley.

[pocketfulofsouls]

[ In turn, Crowley flips on his. The desperation in the other's tone sets something sparking in him, that dealer's excitement. Still, he keeps his tone somewhat annoyed. ]

This isn't like picking apples off the tree, you know. I'm working. And here you're telling me that I can't sweep a profit off the wankers wallowing in their own spit-up. I'm actually rather put-out about it now.

You sound like Hell, by the by.

...

Are you sick?

[rebelled]

Yes.

[Sick, and all too ready to just keel over. Or worse. He knows it won't be long before he loses his wings again.]

I don't care where you get them. I need more.

[pocketfulofsouls]

[ There's a pause. And then, a chuckle. Just chuckling for a moment. ]

I'll see what I can do.

[rebelled]

[He's purposely ignoring that amusement. Damn yo- Wait. Too late for that.]

Just hurry up.