irony! rp for notahammer

Mar 12, 2009 16:20

It's what Circe would call a "playroom", but Dean just calls it his office. His own little bit of paradise in the dungeons, where he takes those that Sam wants broken extra special and works them over, tears them down to their core and then slowly, relentlessly, and joyful chips away at what's left inside them until it's nothing but shards. It's ( Read more... )

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notahammer March 12 2009, 20:51:56 UTC
The angel's broken body is screaming out in pain, and the rough throw down onto the table does no good. With a pathetic whimper, he tries to curl up on himself, but he can't move. He's too broken. He can do nothing but lie and watch as he's shackled to the torture table, tears blinking from his eyes.

He is beyond hope. Beyond his Father's, his brothers', reach. So he closes his eyes, tries to ignore the inappropriate touches of the man he was meant to save, and prays with all his remaining strength.

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the_impala_kid March 12 2009, 21:01:20 UTC
He reaches for his knife, and starts to work, cutting away the last of the Angel's clothes, slowly, in long strips as Castiel lays whimpering on the table, humming a bit to himself under his breath, Stairway to Heaven. He gets the last of the torn and bloody clothes and tosses them onto the floor, and turns toward Castiel with a regretful smile.

"I usually like to start with a blank canvas, dude. So it's only my marks on you, nobody else's. Cause mine, Angel, are the best you'll ever have." He moves around toward Castiel's head, and he backhands the angel, hard, whipping his head to the side.

"Your Father, such as he is, can't hear you down here. You've failed, flyboy. Failed hard. Let dear old daddy down. Look at you, trussed up and naked like some fetish club's main act." He goes to his tray of toys, picking up a thin, wickedly sharp straight razor, turning back to him.

"Got anything to say? Gonna quote "Footprints" at me or anything before I get started?"

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notahammer March 15 2009, 00:25:14 UTC
Castiel does not move his head from its position, twisted at a strange angle from the backhand slap. Instead, he just talks, voice filled with surrender.

"You can still be saved, Dean Winchester."

He knows its true, but he lacks the strength to fight harder for his mission. He's too broken, already, and he knows what must come next. All he can pray for is that the experience kills him before it drives him mad.

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