cape_kore | [ video ]

Who wouldn't miss you?

[It's gentle and teasing, because Fortescue's not entirely sure about that last part. She'll try to be delicate about the 'vacation'.]

I haven't seen the hellpups in a while. Did they, er, have to do with your unscheduled vacation?

You know how it is... get your flesh torn to shreds by hellhounds and check into a spa for a few days for some r&r.

[ Spoiler: There was no spa. ]

[She winces sympathetically.]

Speaking as someone who's nearly died a few times, there's no "better" way; at the end of the day, you're still dead. But that sounds remarkably unpleasant, all the same. I don't suppose you remember this spa?

[Fortescue isn't expecting that she would, what with all of the memory tampering going on here, but hey. Never hurts to ask.]

All day cocktails. Bronzed gods tending to my every need. The usual.

[ Hey it's better to pretend then to face the cold, harsh reality of death. Because really, death isn't so fun. ]

[Well, maybe that memory gap's for the best, then.]

Shame you had to end up back here, on the whole, if bronzed gods were an option.

[Fortescue offers Meg a wry smile.]

Anything I can get you?

What can I say? I'll take a broken angel and a Winchester over the bronzed gods any day - just don't tell them I told you that. Wouldn't want their egos to explode.

[ Even though they could totally listen in if they wanted. ]

Don't suppose this place has any grapes does it?

[ That's odd. Meg not going straight for the alcohol. ]

[A chuckle.]

My lips are sealed. And unless you mean the fermented kind, I'm afraid I haven't seen any. There's some other fruit, though I didn't recognize it. Or is it a specific craving?

[She understands cravings. Even if Fortescue's first thought had been for booze, each time she'd had a close call.]

A craving. But I'll survive. Maybe I should grab a few bottles of the fermented kind after all...

You survive the pups in one piece?

[Fortescue displays the bandage wrapped around her right forearm. There's one around her leg, too. The wounds are fairly minor, as far as bites go; the bandages are mostly for protection at this point.]

Mostly. I was surprised. As it turns out, we have a few tricks in common, the pups and I.

[Nothing more surprising than shifting to Shadow, to get away, and... finding a really ugly mutt staring right at you, ready to tear your throat out. For a magus, anyway.]

Where are you? I could play delivery service.

[People had done the same for her.]

You secretly rip out souls and send them to Hell too? It's always the pretty ones you gotta watch.

[ That earns Fort a smirk. ]

I'm in my room. In the same block as Dean and Cas.

[She remembers where Cas is, unless for some reason it's moved in the last week or two. Maybe it has. Oh, it probably has. When is it ever easy, navigating in the Center?]

Well, you'd know, wouldn't you? [Fortescue winks slightly.] My talents are a bit more shadowy. Literally so. Seems that's where they like to be.

I'll see what the kitchen has to offer, shall I?

Shadowy? Now I'm intrigued.

Grab a bottle and come spill all your pretty little secrets to me. [ Or at least get drunk together so Meg can continue to lick her wounds in secret. ]

A lady has to keep some secrets, doesn't she?

[She smiles.]

I'll grab us something and be on my way, assuming this place doesn't delay me.

[Karma for the help she received. And Meg also intrigues her. Not wholly because of that pretty face of hers, but there's no denying it's a factor. At least Fortescue admits it.]

[ Same said pretty face doesn't actually belong to her, really. Meg likes it. She likes her vessel on the whole. It's petite and curvy and pretty. ]

I'll see you soon, then. No need to knock. Door's open.

[It takes her about twenty minutes to pick up a bottle of wine — well, two — that doesn't look potentially lethal. And looks like wine, for certain. It would be a shame to go all this way and bring alien sparkling juice, though at least it would be a different experience.

Fortescue steps through the door with the wine tucked into her other arm, reasonably certain it's the right one.]

Bonjour, mademoiselle.

You found the place alright then, I see.

[ Meg offers a half smile. Definitely subdued compared to her normal sassy attitude, that's for sure. Licking her wounds and feeling sorry for herself is hardly her style.

Lying low, on the other hand, is an art she's been mastering for some time. It was how she managed to stay alive as long as she had. Funny how falling in love with an angel messed that plan up. ]

And you have bottles. Not holy water, I hope?

[Fortescue smiles back, setting down one of the bottles.]

I wouldn't even know where to start, love, unless it's all in bottles marked with a cross. [Maybe it is.] Bringing some strikes me as terribly rude, however, considering recent events.

[She's capable of being sadistic, but only toward Nazis and Inveterates. Who, in her mind, have earned such impulses. Unless Meg attacks her, the demon's safe. Fortescue's tired of fighting... and hurting others. Or worse.]

It's just wine, if I'm reading labels correctly.

I like you. You can visit any time.

[ Meg's been on her best behaviour since she arrived at Cape Kore and yet there are still people who would sooner stab her than look at her simply because of what she is.

Jerks.

Being good kinda sucks. But being near her angel and making new friends makes it almost worth it. ]

Wine sounds brilliant right now, I gotta say.

[The glasses that Fortescue's stuck in her coat pocket — at least this place has seen fit to give her a coat, evidently it likes her — aren't glamorous, but they'll do. They aren't plastic, at least. Jazz, padding into the room, looks discerningly at Meg, sitting between Fortescue and the door.]

Then I hope that's what we've got. [She has to improvise a little on the opening, but a touch of magic later — the shadows in the room stirring for a second or two — and she pops out the cork, sniffing.] So far, so good.

Did someone actually threaten to bring you holy water, or was that something that happened previous?

I was given moonshine laced with holy water while trapped in a devil's trap. It's not very pretty when you start coughing up your internal organs while being helpless to get away - and they call me the monster.

[ Meg shoots Jazz a look. She wonders if Cas has met him yet. But if Fort knows Cas, then it's likely that Cas has met Jazz. At least he hasn't brought Jazz home and tried to keep him.

Seriously, that angel needs a pet - other than the Winchesters. ]

I'm no saint. Goes with the territory of being a demon. But humans can be every bit as cruel as a demon. And yet we're the ones hunted down.

[She makes a face. Meg might be a demon, but Fortescue has recently spent a solid week in the most agonizing torture a magic user can be put through. She can sympathize, in addition to generally dwelling in a very grey place. She pours the wine, after a sniff to make sure that's what it is, and hands Meg a glass.]

Some humans are hunted down, too. I should know. I used to do some of the hunting.

[ Meg accepts the glass with a smile. She hadn't even expected glasses. Mostly she just swigs from a bottle. A glass is almost a luxury. ]

Usually the humans being hunted are not the ones who deserve it. Not that I'm saying the ones you hunted didn't deserve it.

[ Yeah, she's just going to shut up now. ]

So... Thanks for the wine. Definitely what the doctor ordered for post-death blues.

[Fortescue sits on the edge of the bed with a smile. She tries not to think about it much, right now, the people she killed. But there's no denying it, not really. Some of them deserved it; she'd seen how the tyrants had treated the people around them. But some of them? Maybe she wasn't given all the right information.

Who knows, now.]

No trouble. [She winks, sips her wine.] Alcohol fixes a lot of problems. Glass bottles don't make good crutches, but I'm not known for my good decisions.

[ Meg has no room to judge. Her hands are so stained with blood it's unreal. She's no saint, that much is certain. ]

What fun are good decisions? It's the bad ones that always have the best outcomes.

Unless death is the outcome.

Mostly bad decisions are the best. Like sleeping with angels. And Winchesters.

I'd say you have a fetish going there.

[Fortescue grins, shrugs.]

Not that I can fault you for it.

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