deadliestviper | 013 TEXT LIST TWO/SPAM

Backdated to three days after the Overlook port.

[Locked to Friends (if she's ever told you anything personal, you're on here)]

That port was fucked up for everyone and it hit all of us hard. After going through that I know most of you aren't feeling up to par yet, but when I get anxious, I get antsy. I've laid low to lick my wounds long enough. For the next few hours I'll be playing pool and pretending everything's normal if you've got the energy or inclination to join me.

[Spam, Level 6]

[Rack the balls in the pyramid, set the cue-ball, chalk the cue evenly, line up the shot, break it; Beatrix repeats the pattern over and over again, sinking balls into the table's pockets before starting anew. It's not for practice or any particular love of the game, it's not even for fun. It's just that playing strikes that perfect balance of skilled focus and monotony that allows her to zone out, and the last thing she wanted to do right now was let her mind wander. It was already hard enough to push the images of Sarah and that thing in room 217's bathroom from the forefront of her mind – what she needed, wanted, was someone to talk to, distract her.

But no matter how deeply you repress it, you can't squelch a thought. So by all means, join her, but take care if you point out that she's humming "Love Me Tender."]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nice shot. [She rests her cue, and her hands, on the table.] It's different for everyone, but most people seem to get paired within the first few weeks.

I see. [He misses his next shot as he's not concentrating: he's thinking about how long it will take him to be paired, he has a job out there to do and sitting here isn't exactly helping him at all. He steps back again to let Beatrix take her turn.]

[It takes no large stretch of the imagination to guess what thought's bothering him. She'd been frustrated as Hell until she got paired, and she'd gotten lucky to be put with Sarah.

Christ, had she ever gotten lucky.] The wait's awful. My first month here I spent a lot of time in the gym fighting anyone who'd spar with me.

I've done the same.

There's not a lot else to do out here. [And sparring is by far and away the best use of her free time, although you have to take a break sometime.] Has anyone bested you?

Not so far. [There's Faith, but she had super-strength, and he let her throw him.] What about you?

I can hold my own with humans. With some of the others, I don't stand a chance.

You don't say. At the hotel, Castiel smote me.

Edited 2012-12-01 13:01 (UTC)

Well, fuck. Flaming sword and all?

More sword than flame. [Instinctively his free hand reaches for the stab wound that had gone through his chest, just to check that it's actually gone and won't reappear suddenly.]

How did he do it?

[He gestures to the wound that killed him, the punctured lung, and mimes something being stabbed into him.] Decided to get his hands dirty.

Huh.

[A variety of professional questions spring to mind – what organs did he puncture? What instrument was used? How long did you survive before bleeding out? – but she has the decency to ask none of them. Instead she gives him another sympathetic look and an apologetic half-smile.] That's... basic. When I hear about heavenly smiting, I imagine something a little more metaphysical.

[The detective in him would be able to answer those questions with precision, even if it was his own body.

He shrugs.] He says he's an angel. I kept with the theme.

How so? Dying with a prayer on your lips?

... In a way. [It was more of a promise. I will kill you. He won't follow through on it; he's not sure if he wants to.]

Ah. Curses, the other kind of prayer.

They're more useful.

More sensible.

[She gets a thin smile. He watches her take her shot.]

[With a forward stab of the cue, she sends the ball careening into a cluster and scattering them across the table. None of them sink, but it opens up a variety of new shots.]

[He takes position, aims for an easy one.]

[Dutifully quiet as he shoots, she doesn't speak until he's set the ball in motion.] So why'd he do it?

[In it goes. He straightens up and looks at her.] The hotel affected him.

That much I figured. But why you? Were you a premeditated target or just a convenient one?

(no subject)

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