Martha turns to leave the room, and Castiel stays right where he is, having no inclination whatsoever to move. He's sore, his vessel's muscles feel tight, and honestly he's perfectly comfortable right where he is, not affected at all by Martha's obvious annoyance with his presence. He deals with Dean's displeasure almost constantly, it's nothing new.
He looks up when she returns, and offers her a small shake of his head.
"I'm looking for someone," he says, "my Father. I'm... Not having much success."
Turning to look out the window, he continues, "I can't remember what I was doing immediately before I landed here." The limitations of his memory are frustrating, and if he wasn't so exhausted he might be bitter about it. As it is, though, all he can do is sigh.
"I have no intention of harming you, no. You've given me no reason for that."
Castiel is about to comment that he's sure his Father is capable of defending Himself from a cyberman attack... Until it clicks that he isn't quite sure what cybermen are.
"Cybermen?"
He lets her stick the thermometer under his tongue obediently, and if it registers slightly lower than normal human body temperatur it's only because his grace is weaker than ever; being a fugitive from Heaven is about as far away from God's love as one can be without falling, and it's taking its toll even on his vessel.
He continues talking around the thermometer, "Are you a doctor?"
"Cybermen. The giant metal robot things that were trying to take over the world." She took the thermometer out. Strange. He didn't appear to have hypothermia.
"Look straight ahead and follow my finger with your eyes," she moved on. As she preformed that small test and then shined a light in her eyes she asked, "What have you been doing that you didn't notice the Cybermen. They were pretty difficult to miss."
He nods, but doesn't say anything. He's... Not from around here, to put it lightly, and somehow he doesn't think he's up for trying to explain the fact that he's from another universe to this woman. He knows it's difficult for humans to understand. Blinking tiredly, he obliges, eyes following her finger easily even if he doesn't know exactly what it is she's looking for. His eyes are fine, it's the rest of him that isn't faring quite so well... She stops moving eventually, apparently satisfied, and he can only assume that whatever kind of test that was, he's passed it.
"My search has been very involved. It's possible I may have overlooked a few things."
It's... Vague. It's really vague, but he's not exactly in the business of confiding in strangers, even if they do seem to want to help rather than harm.
"What year is it?"
Blunt and likely a strange question... But Castiel needs to know.
Clearly he has no head trauma that she can detect. Frowning, she sits back and regards him as he begins talking. Overlooked a few things in what? Knowing full well she should probably take him to a hospital, Royal Hope most likely, she's about to call them when he asks the year.
No one asks for years. Ever. Or at least, not typical people.
"Are you a time traveler?" she responds just as bluntly.
He peers up at her owlishly for a few seconds, and then, slowly, "In a manner of speaking, yes."
He hadn't exactly meant to travel so far... But he's certainly capable of doing it and so he supposes it's as good a description as any. He's curious, though, because usually when he's asked questions like that there's some surprise or incredulity involved. This woman is expressing neither.
Martha shrugged. "A few. Are you a Time Lord then? The only other traveling species I met were the angels and you're clearly not one of them." She shuddered slightly at that. To be in 2008 one minute and 1960whenever the next had been more than a little disconcerting. Thank goodness for Sally Sparrow.
Besides, Time Lord could actually fit. No sense of propriety (goodness knows the Doctor never had any) that was for sure. Decently dressed... she'd yet to see a poorly dressed Time Lord. Granted she'd only met two... And he did seem confused. The lack of rambling however... she didn't know what to make of that.
son of reply delay :x apologiesonparkbenchesMay 8 2012, 00:11:59 UTC
"Time Lord? No..." Castiel wrinkles his brow. He's never heard of such a thing... He shakes his head, but at the mention of 'angels' and how ne's clearly not one of them, he bristles somewhat.
"I am an angel."
Is there something about him that's distinctly un-angelic? If so, he'd really like to know what it is. Certainly he isn't at the top of his angel game, but he likes to think he still conducts himself in a somewhat professional, heavenly manner.
RL is working at chewing me up and spitting me out, so don't worry.notrosesshadowMay 8 2012, 03:16:03 UTC
Martha looked at him strangely. "I'm sorry. Did you just say you're an angel? I'm talking about the Weeping Angels. Statues. Not really. Aliens but in the shape of statues. You're definitely not one of those."
Guuuuh I know that feeling so very, very well, man.onparkbenchesMay 8 2012, 03:22:08 UTC
"No, I'm not. But I am an angel. I'm called Castiel."
Weeping Angels... He's never heard of them. He seems to have ended up much further away than he'd realized. Time Lords, Cybermen, Weeping Angels... It's all Greek to Castiel, and that isn't something he particularly enjoys.
He isn't exactly sure how to go about asking where he is, though, and so he supposes he ought to concentrate on recovering his strength enough to leave this strange place. Far from being closer to finding his Father, which had been his intention, he feels like he's only landed himself further away.
Martha's frown deepened. "Right. I'm too tired to deal with this. I'd call someone to take you away but everyone's too busy with the aftermath of the invasion. And I only have another two hours before I have to be back. So I'd appreciate my bed. The one you are currently in. IF you must stay here, there's a couch."
She placed her kit on the desk and moved towards the WC. "I'm getting ready for bed. I expect you out of that bed when I get back."
"I apologize," he says, sincerity etched across his features, "It wasn't my intention to take refuge in your bed."
Coming from anyone else that might sound awkward or even vaguely dirty. From Castiel, however, it's probably just deadpan and awkward.
He thinks he probably has enough strength to at least get him from this room to somewhere else in this world, down the street, if he's lucky, and he supposes he's intruded enough.
Something about everything he's just said makes her pity him. Pausing to think just a second she abruptly turns to the door. "Follow me Castiel."
"And bring a pillow," she calls from the living room where she's in the process of spreading a blanket or two on the sofa. "Not quite as comfortable as the bed, sorry, but you'll sleep fine. And it's better than turning you out into armageddon."
If Castiel is confused by Martha's abrupt change of heart, he doesn't show it any more than a concentrated narrowing of his eyes, only pushes himself off of the bed obediently and does as she asks, following her into the other room. With a pillow in hand, of course. He can only imagine how he must look, but at this point he's too exhausted to be indignant about being so vulnerable.
His eyes roam tiredly around the room once he's reached the sofa, taking in the similarities and differences to the universe he'd come from before settling on the sofa itself, now adorned with some rather comfortable looking blankets. It's... Oddly inviting.
"Thank you," he says, perching awkwardly at the edge of the cushion. "This is... More than adequate."
Armageddon... It seems no matter how far he strays from where he's supposed to be, there are some constants...
He doesn't know whether he ought to be comforted by that or not.
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He looks up when she returns, and offers her a small shake of his head.
"I'm looking for someone," he says, "my Father. I'm... Not having much success."
Turning to look out the window, he continues, "I can't remember what I was doing immediately before I landed here." The limitations of his memory are frustrating, and if he wasn't so exhausted he might be bitter about it. As it is, though, all he can do is sigh.
"I have no intention of harming you, no. You've given me no reason for that."
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She pulled out a thermometer. "Put this under your tongue" she ordered. "And I need to make sure you have no head injury."
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"Cybermen?"
He lets her stick the thermometer under his tongue obediently, and if it registers slightly lower than normal human body temperatur it's only because his grace is weaker than ever; being a fugitive from Heaven is about as far away from God's love as one can be without falling, and it's taking its toll even on his vessel.
He continues talking around the thermometer, "Are you a doctor?"
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"Look straight ahead and follow my finger with your eyes," she moved on. As she preformed that small test and then shined a light in her eyes she asked, "What have you been doing that you didn't notice the Cybermen. They were pretty difficult to miss."
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"My search has been very involved. It's possible I may have overlooked a few things."
It's... Vague. It's really vague, but he's not exactly in the business of confiding in strangers, even if they do seem to want to help rather than harm.
"What year is it?"
Blunt and likely a strange question... But Castiel needs to know.
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No one asks for years. Ever. Or at least, not typical people.
"Are you a time traveler?" she responds just as bluntly.
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He hadn't exactly meant to travel so far... But he's certainly capable of doing it and so he supposes it's as good a description as any. He's curious, though, because usually when he's asked questions like that there's some surprise or incredulity involved. This woman is expressing neither.
"Have you met many time travelling creatures?"
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Besides, Time Lord could actually fit. No sense of propriety (goodness knows the Doctor never had any) that was for sure. Decently dressed... she'd yet to see a poorly dressed Time Lord. Granted she'd only met two... And he did seem confused. The lack of rambling however... she didn't know what to make of that.
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"I am an angel."
Is there something about him that's distinctly un-angelic? If so, he'd really like to know what it is. Certainly he isn't at the top of his angel game, but he likes to think he still conducts himself in a somewhat professional, heavenly manner.
Maybe that's just wishful thinking.
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Weeping Angels... He's never heard of them. He seems to have ended up much further away than he'd realized. Time Lords, Cybermen, Weeping Angels... It's all Greek to Castiel, and that isn't something he particularly enjoys.
He isn't exactly sure how to go about asking where he is, though, and so he supposes he ought to concentrate on recovering his strength enough to leave this strange place. Far from being closer to finding his Father, which had been his intention, he feels like he's only landed himself further away.
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She placed her kit on the desk and moved towards the WC. "I'm getting ready for bed. I expect you out of that bed when I get back."
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Coming from anyone else that might sound awkward or even vaguely dirty. From Castiel, however, it's probably just deadpan and awkward.
He thinks he probably has enough strength to at least get him from this room to somewhere else in this world, down the street, if he's lucky, and he supposes he's intruded enough.
"I will leave, if you wish.'
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"And bring a pillow," she calls from the living room where she's in the process of spreading a blanket or two on the sofa. "Not quite as comfortable as the bed, sorry, but you'll sleep fine. And it's better than turning you out into armageddon."
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His eyes roam tiredly around the room once he's reached the sofa, taking in the similarities and differences to the universe he'd come from before settling on the sofa itself, now adorned with some rather comfortable looking blankets. It's... Oddly inviting.
"Thank you," he says, perching awkwardly at the edge of the cushion. "This is... More than adequate."
Armageddon... It seems no matter how far he strays from where he's supposed to be, there are some constants...
He doesn't know whether he ought to be comforted by that or not.
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