2015.09.24 - A Lance Meeting Between Frenemies

*Castiel calls on Lance to try to play guardian angel. Lance isn't having it. Agriculture is discussed.*

The Space Needle at Seattle, WA

Night, the top of the Space Needle. Seattle is a great city. A weird city, which is something Lance can appreciate. Most of these people are known for doing their own thing, being their own people. In a way, it's a place he really feels like, in a way, he belongs. It's a place he could conceivably call home, if he didn't have an intimate little bungalow back in Beacon Hills.

But he has work that pulls him away. Even if Lance tries to be available at all times for Stiles and his friends, he still has an army to raise and connections to maintain. Tonight finds him enjoying a joint in the chilly night air. It's not really cold...but it's getting there. This winter might well be a fierce one, although presently it's just mostly overcast and cool. It's not like the wind can cut through all the leather he's wearing.

The lights of the Needle slowly pulse, but they don't bother him Lance he's situated. Who's going to see him on top of the needle, anyway?

Night, the top of the Space Needle. Seattle is a great city. A weird city, which is something Lance can appreciate. Most of these people are known for doing their own thing, being their own people. In a way, it's a place he really feels like, in a way, he belongs. It's a place he could conceivably call home, if he didn't have an intimate little bungalow back in Beacon Hills.

But he has work that pulls him away. Even if Lance tries to be available at all times for Stiles and his friends, he still has an army to raise and connections to maintain. Tonight finds him enjoying a joint in the chilly night air. It's not really cold...but it's getting there. This winter might well be a fierce one, although presently it's just mostly overcast and cool. It's not like the wind can cut through all the leather he's wearing.

The lights of the Needle slowly pulse, but they don't bother Lance where he's situated. Who's going to see him on top of the needle, anyway?

The presence of him is likely felt by Lance before Castiel suddenly appears beside him. Hands tucked carefully into his trench coat pockets to show that he's not being threatening, he stands facing the same direction, looking out toward the city, and not *too* close. It's a conversation, not a confrontation.

"Demogorgon," says Castiel in his eternally deadpan, gravelly voice. "It's been... a long time." Not that the two of them were ever really on social terms, but... perhaps Castiel simply means, speaking as a representative of Heaven.

Lance turns slightly, to take in the rumpled angel. He's not looking at his outside, so much as he is his inside -- so to speak, between the two of them -- because unlike the typical human, they could actually recognize that of each other without seeing blinding light or just a mass of smoke. The corners of his mouth turn a little up, and he takes a drag before holding out the joint between thumb and forefinger. "Cute suit," he comments, although it's not referring to the clothes he's wearing.

Castiel looks uncertain how to respond to that, so he offers a casual, "...Thank you. Your vessel also appears... healthy." An awkward beat, and then he frowns, looking out over the city again. "Your activities recently have garnered... some attention... in Heaven. It had seemed you might be changing your course. Yet, here you are... pursuing an agenda, I suspect." His frown lingers. "Forgive my getting down to business if it's abrupt, but: What are your intentions?"

"Well..." Lance starts, taking a step closer. He's not threatening at all. In fact, he just sticks the joint between Castiel's lips and, smiling softly, moves to straighten his tie. Because there hasn't been a day where that tie isn't half-undone and loose and really a mess, at least by the time an hour's passed. "Here I didn't know any of them still cared about my activities. My intentions? You know I don't kiss and tell. But if you're asking about what I'm doing in Seattle..." He motions to the smoking joint. "Looking after some investments."

Castiel's frown deepens, and he removes the joint from his lips, holding it away from himself with an expression of mild distaste. "Demogorgon," he says in a tone of almost pointed patience, "You seemed to have removed yourself from the conflict. This was... a welcome change. Yet now you seem to be once again pursuing the agenda of destruction, gathering forces. No good will come from an assembled army of Hell. It could lead to open warfare once again--one between three sides instead of two. Consider the dangerous consequences of such a rash action."

Lance just chuckles as he takes it again and breathes in. "You're just fussy because it doesn't fit with your agenda, is that it?" When he exhales, it tumbles out of his lips and makes a little cloud around the both of them, then the night breeze whisks it away. To Heaven, it amuses Lance to think. Maybe it'll be good for them. "I'm not sure how exactly you think it's such a bad thing. So what if I'm not participating in your petty tit for tat? They're all kinds that I've got. It's good to give the fiercer ones something to occupy their minds. Idle hands, you know." He makes a gesture.

"The rest just want to be left *alone*, Castiel. We don't like it when people make plans involving us but don't bother to ask us before they make the plans." Lance, taking the joint in his fingers, gestures upward. Skyward. And smoke hisses between his teeth, which has a fairly imposing effect as his eyes wash over solid black. "Anyway. I fail to see how gainfully employing some guys in the world's most harmless drug is a bad thing, especially since those are the same guys that would just be drifting free, slitting people's throats to talk to the *fam* back *home*. Just in case, y'know, you forgot about that *charming* little spell they all know."

Frowning, Castiel says, "It is not believed that you simply intend to open a drug cartel. And... if the others were... simply living quiet lives, then perhaps... they would be left alone. But armies can't be ignored by either side. It threatens the balance of power. It could lead to open conflict that would consume the world." His brow furrows. "Surely you aren't so filled with contempt for this Earth that you wish to see it destroyed?"

Lance clicks his tongue, and he chuckles a little bit. "Cartel? You need to get with the times. Maybe you need to get laid, most of all. I think that's what it is." He pats Castiel on the chest. "Why don't you go clean the pipes?" Another casual drag from the joint, and he steps away, more towards the outer curve of the roof. "Oh, yeah. I totally want to see it go. That's why I nearly let myself be annihilated during that whole Nemeton business. And where was Heaven then?"

Slowly Lance turns back to face Castiel, exhaling in a thin wisp that rises like a warped pillar into the wind. "Or Hell. Or any of you. Yeah. I don't have to tell you what would've happened if I hadn't been there. Balance of power? Don't make me laugh. One's as bad as the other." Though not exactly hostile yet, he's not quite as cheerful and casual as he started. He purses his lips for a moment, glancing over the angel. "Get with the times, or they're gonna leave you all behind. People don't *need* Heaven or Hell, anymore than they need any other gated community." But after that slight excitement, that slight pointed edge to his speech, he softens slightly in expression and posture. "If you came here to threaten me, don't bother. I'm not afraid of you. You're not important to me."

Castiel grimaces, shaking his head. "I did all that I could in that instance. And, you will note, that agents of Heaven *were* present." But then he manages a fairly reasonable approximation of a sigh. "Demogorgon, I am not here to threaten you. If that were our purpose, they would have sent someone much more... threatening." He seems genuinely troubled by what Lance says, actually listening to the words rather than shrugging them off. His expression shows genuine discomfort as he gives the words consideration. Attempting a gentle tone, he says, "I came to ask you--and I do mean ask--to lay aside your plans for violence, for armies. There are better ways. Hell is, as always, looking for open war. Heaven doesn't want that. If you truly see yourself as outside both, why give them what they want? What would peace cost you?"

Lance raises an eyebrow at Castiel's words. He's genuinely surprised for a moment, and then he blinks away the black in his eyes and just laughs. "Violence? Are you high -- wait, don't answer that." His laughter goes a little higher and louder than he clearly intended. "Castiel. You guys did jack. Hell...did jack. Agents, my ass." He sighs, then breathes in as he places the thin white twist-stick between his lips again.

Breathing out, Lance continues. "I don't *have* 'plans for violence'. Dork. I have *plans* to make sure we've all got each other's backs so that if you or anybody else decides to *try* anything, my people don't get wiped off the map. But right now, my 'plans for violence' involve...ooh, growing pot. Which is, I don't know if you're aware, pretty much the least violent thing you could do? Like maybe you might wanna suggest it to the God-the-god squad."

Castiel gives Lance a look of what would pass for exasperation on anyone with a more emotive manner. "You stood beside a Knight of the Cross," he points out. "You cannot expect me to believe that you were unaware of his presence." He shakes his head slowly. "I see that this topic will not be productive. Please remember though that I came to you peacefully to ask you not to raise a force that could cause an upheaval." He's quiet for a moment, and then he attempts a softer tone, almost as if attempting to be friendly. "Your path had seemed to change recently. You had begun to pursue... other interests. You had protected the town of Beacon Hills and taken interest in its residents. Your actions... were admirable."

"Oh yeah, I forgot." Lance flicks his tongue across his lips, moistening them. The wind would stand to chap anyone else's. "You both love to claim involvement, even if it's just 'that guy went to church' or 'that chick was wearing a Black Sabbath t-shirt, it totally counts!'" He gives a wry sort of grin, shaking his head and taking a step or two back towards Cas. "If there's an upheaval, it's going to be Heaven or Hell. And if that happens, it's still not my issue. It's *yours*." He extends a finger and touches the tip of Castiel's nose. "Boop."

This makes him laugh a little bit again, and it's at least not put on for Castiel's benefit; Lance is really amused, though it may be that he's letting what he's smoking affect him more than usual. "You're so pressed. Think about this practically. You're telling me...that both of you assarchies might just...up and try to wipe me and mine out, because a bunch of us found better things to do? And what, you want us, you expect us, not to be there for each other, not look out for each other? We're not a hive mind, and we're not a bunch of greedy little backstabbers, each one out for ourselves." The last draw off the joint, and then it's flicked to the winds, flicked to be carried far away and, eventually, work its way down to the surface, but only in ash by that time, ash and shreds. "I wish you could just hear yourself. But maybe the dumbest thing I'm hearing that you're not mentioning is the fact that you're not even counting *humans* in there. They're not a neutral party. And there are alllll kinds of humans. This is what I mean -- Heaven is pathetically out of touch. Hell is full of idiots that think they're cool. But both of you are like you just rolled in from a sitcom, except this isn't funny, Castiel."

It may be coincidental, but the cloud cover has thickened substantially in the past few minutes.

Castiel looks downright baffled by the nose-boop, and he grunts softly at Lance's arguments. "You think like a demon would. You hear threats where I offer concern, admonishments where I suggest caution, and nothing at all when I attempt to *thank* you." He almost manages a very real scowl as he looks away, watching the butt of the joint scattering itself to the winds. In a grim tone, he adds, "...for doing what I could not." He gives a slow shake of his head. "I do count humans--for a great deal, actually. They have their protectors. They have their champions. And they must be allowed the freedom to choose their own paths. We do agree on one thing--the lack of humor implicit in this situation--but all I wish is to see human suffering alleviated." He adds, almost as if he'd forgotten, "And, of course, to do my duty to God and Heaven."

"I hear threats because you're not listening to yourself. You *do* remember that people making their own choices wasn't, and isn't, smiled upon by *your* crew. If I'm not exactly welcoming you with open arms, it's because I know you as well as I know the rest of them." Lance slides his hands into his pockets, rocking on his boots, heel to toe and back again. "Right, wait for it -- and there it is. And that's pretty much why you're never going to get rid of human suffering." He leans forward a bit, lowering his voice. It's almost lost, what he says, to the winds that are whipping up. "Taken a close look at that grand, divine plan lately? I'd keep an eye on your back, if I were you, Castiel. You almost sound like you're having the kind of thoughts that get you tossed down in a flaming ball of screaming and pain."

"I'm sorry for your suffering," Castiel says with clear sincerity. "As I am sorry for theirs. But I cannot neglect my duty, nor forsake my loyalty to Heaven." His expression is--"weary" may be the best word for it--as he looks out across the city, across all that stretches before them. "I did not come here for any malicious purpose. If anything, I... wish you well. You have the one thing I cannot have, cannot even want. You have freedom. You've fought hard for it, won it. Kept it. I only hope that you use it wisely and well. I hope that your... agricultural endeavors... are all you have in mind. I hope that a higher wisdom than my own will judge you kindly. But if all you wish is to rule, to be a general or a king... then I fear for the destruction you will wreak across the Earth."

Lance rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Castiel. Get laid. I'd fuck you, if it helps." But his expression is one of slight concern, buried under a kind of world-weary cynicism that nonetheless has a sort of gentle gloss over it all. "I don't want to rule anything. I just want to get people to stop being so stupid, because you know what's going to wipe out the world in a swath of devastation? That's what it is. That's how the world ends. Apathy and paranoia. Look, I'd be happy to never have to think about fighting again, but it's just not going to happen. Not because I'm inherently violent. Not because I'm out for blood." And all of that, all of his expression, reflects a kind of pained sorrow for just a moment. "But because Heaven and Hell are fundamentally self-interested. In Heaven's case, it's a hive mind. In Hell's, it's the opposite and the same problem. Nobody's willing to give a little or admit they're operating on archaic, obsolete principles and positions. That's why I'm not going to be able to just remove myself from the game board and make a nice little happy commune full of hippies. Because if you haven't looked around lately, that's what gets you wiped out. That's what gets you another Croatoan."

Castiel nods resignedly. "You see yourself as protecting your interests, which--so much as I am able--I understand. However, gathering the kind of power you would require to have any safety against Heaven or Hell *will* make you a target. Power is always a target, as you well know. I have observed many gathering power before, and I am certain of one thing: If you are committed to it, then it will only grow, as will those that would threaten you to try to take it from you." He looks back over at Lance, expression bleak. "There are those who believe you truly do care for... certain elements of the world. Certain humans, even. Have you considered what your pursuit of power may bring down up on them?"

"Yep." Lance slides up next to Castiel, throwing an arm around his shoulders. It's an easy enough answer. "Listen. If you decide you might be in for getting the stick out of your ass, I'm gonna be right there for you. Okay? I like you a lot more than pretty much all of the rest of the pep squad. But you've gotta loosen up. Live. Don't just exist. Actually *live*. You may think that it's the best thing ever to blah blah God's will blah duty blah blah, but living for someone else to manipulate is just existing. It's sleepwalking."

"Your advice is... noted," Castiel says in that same bleak tone. "I hope you will heed mine, as well. You saved a great many humans with your actions recently. It would be very unfortunate if you doomed the ones you seem to care for with your next actions." He pauses, shakes his head, and then says, "Goodbye, Demogorgon." With a polite nod, he vanishes from view, that sound of ethereal wings accompanying his departure, though Lance will well know that the angel is still listening if he cares to have the last word.

Lance's arm just falls to his side again, and he sighs, looking around him. Well, whatever. He sits down again. There's a little thunder above, but it doesn't appear to be doing all that much. Maybe a flash or two of lightning that never makes it from the clouds. After a while, he smiles ever so slightly again. "Agricultural endeavors," he repeats, amusement ringing in his voice.