And you expected honesty?

you do not have to:

get to my thread just because you’re working on other replies

avoid posting often just because we’re both online and it’s your turn

push yourself to write something just because you see me on

I understand:

that sometimes you only get muse for certain threads

you may not know what to reply with at the moment

some threads you have are in an exciting moment and you’d rather put your focus into those

RPing is for fun. Don’t force yourself to get stuff done. Your replies are worth the wait.

The fact that his name meant ‘The Blind God’, along with the fact that Samael started off his stories with a tale about Gods and human souls, was fascinating to the Lord and he tipped his head slightly, waving at a noisy drunk, quietening him so he could listened to him properly, taking a mouthful of his drink here and there as the male told his tale, a few of his men looking just as interested, and the few females that remained listened raptly as well.

By the time the man had finished, Dean was looking at Samael dubiously, an eyebrow arched. He didn’t see the point of the story, but it was an interesting one—he just didn’t believe in love or soul mates or anything similar, perhaps it was because he’d never experienced it, or perhaps it was because his mother had killed his father.

"Loch sool mates!" a woman said with a nod, liking his story.

It was then that the two clowns of his clan were standing up and one came up behind the other, pushing his arms under the others, poking his head over his shoulder. “Aye, Lok i’ve foond mah sool mucker, we arh a body agun! ne’er lae me, Agnus!”

"Ne’er, noe we can wield fower swords, insteid ay tew. we will be most powerful!" the other spoke up, his voice loud from the alcohol.

Dean didn’t find it amusing at first, it wasn’t until they tried to walk and do things like that, tripping on each others legs and ending up in a pile that he actually laughed, slapping his hand down on the table to express his amusement, the cups on it jostling a little from the impact of his strong hands on wood. “Ye idiots.”

Finally focusing his eyes back onto Samael again, Dean flashed him a smile before shaking his head. “Ah dunnae kinn if ah believe in sool mates ur e’en loove, Ah dornt troost easily,” he told the man with a frown, shrugging a broad shoulder. “Ye shaa spin anither, Samael, puhaps one o’ them nae sae pleasant ones. ‘at ur somethin’ funay, naethin’ abit loove, thocht th’ lasses will loch them, jist nae me.”

Dean began to speak, "Love is.... A concept I am not apt to believe in either. I simply remember the story from my travels and thought it was interesting." Love was a human concept, at least romantic love anyway. He knew the love of a brother, the love of a father. But the love of a partner? It was an idea too foreign to him, something that he could see but would never experience. He wasn't built for it.

"I think I can arrange something it a bit less pleasant." A frown settled on his lips, a haunted gleam in his eyes. He cleared and throat, "When the Earth was still new, there was a man. A Father and his sons. There were several, but the ones this settles on are Michael, Lucifer, and the brother who looked on in horror." In one drink, he drained his glass, needing the warm feeling in his belly to ward off the cold of the story.

"The Father created many things, but his sons were his pride and joy. Or so they had thought. He'd raised his boys to love only him to, to care only for him and their siblings." A grimace twisted his features, "Until the Father created a new line of children, who he told his eldest to serve and care for. Lucifer, second born and favorite of the Father, had doubt. That doubt poisoned him, twisted him. And when he went to the Father with his concerns, asking why they had to serve the lesser line, the Father was angry."

He paused, unable to continue for a moment. Flashes of angry faces and fear and blood danced across his eyes. Visions of war. Gathering all his courage, he began again, without a falter in his voice.