[Open] I've been around for a long, long year -- stole many a man's soul and faith.
Crowley was not happy in the slightest.
First that bloody angel had to go back on their deal, and then he had to nick off with the blood - rendering the spell useless. Then the stupid feather ball had to go and open up Purgatory all by himself an consume every single last soul that was in there. Bloody angels. Well, he certainly wasn't going to ( Read more... )
Bela wasn't in Grant Park two seconds ago. Bela was in the Crowbar two seconds ago, talking to John. John, her guardian, who she wouldn't put it past to be positively molting at this point.
She always warned him that she wouldn't be the easiest ward. He should have listened. Not that he could have -- this, whatever it is, between them isn't something that he can just turn off. But she can at least try and make it seem like she cares about his well being. Mostly because she actually does.
This still leaves the mystery of how she is still in a toga, still shackled, and suddenly materializing in Grant Park. She starts to look around, confused, and then her eyes land on a very familiar face. In fact, it's the last face on Earth that she ever wants to see in Chicago, second to only Lilith.
But look how well that went.
"Oh, bloody hell, not you."
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"He's no one. We just want to leave."
She knows that she's showing a weakness and she doesn't want to, but she doesn't think of any other way that they can get out of here. She doesn't want John to get hurt. She stopped caring about herself a long time ago.
But if she knew Crowley, he isn't about to leave her alone about it.
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"Shame. But I do know of a place where I could change that," he says with a dark smile, raising an eyebrow in Bela's direction. She'll know exactly he means. He assures he'd have John all 'Thank you, sir. Another hot poker up the jacksie, Sir?' - just like the rest of them.
Crowley blink and looks at Bela with mock-shock. "No one?" Nope. Not impressed in the slightest with this. "Hardly the way to talk to your boss,"
He looks at John with narrowed eyes, "I think you'll find you have no business here, John," he tells him, "This is between me and the ever-lovely Ms. Talbot,"
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"I said my name but I didn't catch yours," John replies.
So much for your talk about manners, Crowley.
"He's your boss?" John asks, folding his arms across his chest and looking over at Bela.
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She takes a breath, not wanting to explain this here. She wants to get through this with as minimal damage done as possible. "Crowley has yet to understand that this is a different place from the world he's used to."
And Bela isn't entirely sure how to drive that point home.
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If he had a hat, he would doff it. Would that make you happy, John? Geez.
Crowley rolls his eyes, how many times will he have to explain this to her? Bloody humans and their stubbornness. Surely the burn should have been enough to get it through that skull of hers?
"I hold the contracts now. Which means I hold yours," he tells her flatly, "Even if we may be from different points in time, or in fact, a whole new world - I still hold it,"
Sorry, Bela. Crowley doesn't really care about what you want.
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It's a little bit better, Crowley.
"Okay, wait a minute. Wait a minute." John holds up his hands. "What she's saying is true, whether you're a fan or not. You might have your King of Hell mojo, but you're in a completely different universe. Hell doesn't exist here, not as you know it, and angels and demons and all that jazz? Also a completely different ball game. Contract's gotta be null and void."
John doesn't even have to know what the contract is about.
He's going to argue her case.
Sorry, Crowley. John does care about what she wants.
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Not that Bela has been discussing this with Castiel at length -- in fact, she tries to avoid him whenever possible -- but she's fairly sure that that point should drive things home.
Demons aren't supposed to be fond of angels, after all.
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He sighs and rubs at his temple in annoyance. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear, which is odd because I consider myself very articulate with these sorts of things," he says.
"This isn't some pissing game," he says, anger flaring in his voice, "Regardless of the fact we're in a different universe - you sold your soul. This is not something you can worm your way out of. You're bound to it, no matter what the playing field. I might not be able to find a way into Hell, but rest assured, I will ( ... )
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John has absolutely no desire to repeat himself, though he knows it to be true. It might work in his favor if Crowley keeps believing this contract and whatever else happened in his world could actually hold any weight here.
Sooner or later, he'll learn what life in the Rift really means.
Everyone does sooner or later.
And he's vaguely heard of Castiel through Lena, but he didn't know.
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"I'm not sure. If they are here, I haven't run into them, but I do know how to find Castiel. Maybe I should find him -- see what he thinks of my little situation."
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He demands respect but he certainly won't give it. Not really. And he has no desire to hear it John, in all honesty. He doesn't really care. Bela's his interest here.
He didn't think he'd get here so fast. He's only been here five minutes and the angel's already here. You'd be a little flustered if you'd just seen what he'd seen Bela. Honestly.
"I doubt the matters of demon deals are of any concern to him. Dean and Sam, yeah. But not you," he sneers.
"Now, do I need to repeat myself? Or would you like me to knock the pretty boy about some more? Or... set him on fire?" he raises his hand threateningly, "Your choice,"
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"Two can play at that game," she crosses her arms in front of her chest. "I'm actually getting rather good at it. Want to see who's the faster draw?"
She's daring him to try her. She would love to set him on fire.
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"Oh, so you've learned a few parlor tricks? Well done," the last part is uttered with enough sarcasm to sink a ship with. "Hold on, I might start clapping,"
He doesn't.
Please, Bela. Don't make him laugh.
Instead, he closes his fist, as if suddenly gripping onto her, but with his mind instead. "How about I hold you above your own fire instead? Melt that pretty face off, like how it should be," he says. "Personally, I like my plan better,"
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He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly it's though something's gripping at him tight, almost making it impossible to breathe.
It's not something he wants Crowley to know or exploit, but he and Bela are linked.
Whatever he does to Bela, John is going to feel, and there's fury as he tries to step forward and can't, paralyzed in place.
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This is about getting out of this situation, alive, without Crowley finding out about John. When the fire doesn't work, she does the next best defense mechanism she knows.
Latin.
"Priinceps gloriosissime cælestis militiæ, sancte Michaël Archangele ... "
Her words are low and breathy, but the important thing is that the pronunciation is right.
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