Fandom Island and Town

Castiel was in fine form for his sermon, today. He was clear without verging into TMI. His words were meaningful and deep, and for once, not entirely outside the realm of what one might expect to hear in a mainstream religious service.

This was probably because he'd downloaded said sermon off the internet.

Not that it really mattered in any case, as his sermon was actually entirely inaudible over the shrieking of "MY HEART WILL GO ON!" as the stolp bugs were methodically hunted down and eaten by ferocious, rambunctious kittens.

If someone pointed out the bugs' endangered status, Castiel would mildly point out that the kittens were only acting on their basic instincts, and that they certainly could not be blamed for such things. Also, hunting bugs kept them from trying to pounce his wings, and at the moment, those were just as endangered as any species of insect.

Something . . . odd was going on on the island, though Castiel could not, for the life of him, work out exactly what it was. So while he ought to have been preparing for his sermon, he was instead pacing about the church grounds, trying to pin point precisely from where the feeling of disquiet was emanating.

The kittens were pawing unhappily at the door, mewing at him any time he walked by, and on his fifth passage, he gave into their demands and let them out into the graveyard, following close on their heels to see if an exterior view would help him work things out.

He'd made it no more than a few feet from the door when the church abruptly vanished.

. . . Yes, that might have something to do with the odd feeling. Castiel stared into the nothingness that lay where the church had been, and after a moment's consideration, decided that one of Dean's colorful phrases would be the most appropriate.

"Oh sh --"

And then Castiel vanished.

The kittens tilted their heads at the empty spot where Castiel had stood. Bobby gave an annoyed mew -- then was immediately distracted by a butterfly.

Services, it seemed, would be postponed until further notice.

[ooc: this totally isn't an excuse to try to come up with a sermon topic today. Shut up. NFI, totally broadcastable, and the graveyard now has moddable kittens running around it.]

Castiel was back behind the pulpit.

OMG.

"A new friend told me this week that I ought to give a sermon on the 'beauty of a single sakura sailing on a gentle western wind ♥'. ( Yes, he was quoting the hearts directly )

[ooc: OCD coming up! and we're rolling.]

"My apologies for not giving my sermon weekly, as I had promised. I have been somewhat . . . distracted."

He had all these biological functions now. They were exhausting.

"Today I thought I would simply ask all of you a question: How do you deal with the monotony of every day life? It's all very repetitive, and your various biological functions interrupt you too frequently to approach it with a properly meditative spirit. I find it very frustrating."

Alas, poor now-mostly-human-angel. He hadn't yet discovered the true wonders of narcotics and sex.

[ooc: IDEK, you guys.]

It'd been a little while since Castiel had made it to the altar to give one of his sermons. As it was, he was still considerably out of sorts, his loss of power now to the point of subjecting him not just to colds and sleep, but also the need to eat, drink, and -- well, the less said about that other requirement, the better.

He was fairly certain at this point that, in creating mankind, God had been playing some sort of giant cosmic joke.

"Lying," he said, as he took to the podium. "I'm told that it's how you people become president, though in retrospect, I suspect that might have been an attempt at humor. Either way, it seems to have become a necessary part of the human experience, one which I admit I still do not entirely understand. It's progressed past the point of necessity to the point of habit and entertainment. All of you have lied, all of you will lie, and yet, somehow, all of you are continually fooled and suffer feelings of betrayal when lied to. And I confess, I still don't entirely understand why."

There had to be a reason other than politics. There simply had to.

Castiel had actually slept through the entire day, yesterday, thus completely missing his weekly sermon. He'd love to say it was a mistake, but the reality was he'd been so terrified by the fact that one of his nostrils was clogged that he'd drunk three bottles of NyQuil.

Look, when you get sick for the first time ever after millennia of existence, you see how well you handle a small cold.

As if that wasn't bad enough, it seemed the island was once more out to get him. That was the only explanation he had for the pile of luggage labeled things like WEIGHT OF ENTIRE SPECIES, BETRAYED BROTHERS FOR ABSENT FATHER, and USED TO BE PART OF A MUCH BETTER CLUB on which he was currently sitting.

A fairly lumpy looking duffelbag appeared from nowhere at his feet, glaring white letters proclaiming MILLION YEAR OLD VIRGIN to the church at large, only to be immediately pounced on by five hyper active kittens.

Castiel blew his nose and sighed.

[ooc: OMG I'D FORGOTTEN THIS WAS TODAY! Open!]

Castiel still had no idea what to think of the visitors who'd come to the island for the convention -- especially one in particular. Gabriel assured him that Dean hadn't actually said "yes". Which meant the brothers were still out there, fighting. Without his help.

They were probably screwed.

Angelbane's kittens were progressing nicely, starting to do a bit more than just tumble over on top of each other and nurse. Karal was especially precocious, taking up a post on the edge of the nest, as though to guard it. Bobby still had a tendency to trip over her own feet. The other three occasionally stared at Castiel accusingly, as though he really ought to have named them, already.

[ooc: open, though responses from me will be slow.]

The pew the kittens were under was still blocked off, though the kittens had opened their eyes and ears by now and were wobbling about their little nest a great deal more. It might have been some effort for Castiel to pull himself away from watching them in order to give the sermon.

He was in better spirits this week -- though that wasn't necessarily saying much. Still, having spent the intervening time watching kittens develop had clearly done him some good.

"Today, I thought I might talk to you for a little while about instinct."

And he did, going into not just the fundamental necessity of instinct to developing life, but also arguments as to whether instincts were genetic, or perhaps a sign of intelligent design. His general thesis seemed to be that these instincts were provided for the earliest of creatures by the Creator, certainly, but possibly as a means of then not feeling bad about ignoring the world almost completely. 'Look', God seemed to be saying. 'I gave you these guidelines, here, way back at the beginning. It's not my fault you're too stupid to pay attention to them.'

In conclusion, Castiel seemed to be saying, listen to your instincts. 'Cause the Lord might not actually give a dead rat's ass about your survival, otherwise.

Cheerful, yeah?

So, apparently, carving a angel-banishing sigil into one's own chest took a lot out of an angel. Especially when one followed up such an act with drinking a large amount of fine Thai liquor. Which would explain why Castiel woke up to find himself face down on a pew with his trenchcoat over his head. He peered blearily into the wood and wondered if he owed Sam, Dean, and Chuck an apology for the day before.

A soft mewing came from under his head. Castiel fell off the pew, and thus had a perfect view of Angelbane. In his absence, she'd apparently decided that she didn't like the little nest he'd made for her in the rectory, instead preferring a pile of old altar boy robes underneath the pew, where it was warm and dark and the little old lady who always sat in the front row could sneak her sardines.

Angelbane glared at Castiel, possibly for interrupting her grooming process, possibly for not being the little old lady who always sat in the front row, bearing a can of sardines. She made sure to give him a good, long look before returning to her business. Which was grooming small, hairless things with their eyes shut. Castiel's eyes widened.

"Oh."

Angelbane ignored him, too busy gently pushing one of the tiny things aside so she could get to the one underneath.

Castiel smiled. One of the little hairless things wobbled its way in his general direction, and Angelbane gave him another look, as if to say "keep an eye on that one for a moment, won't you?"

"Thank you," said Castiel, still lying prone on the floor. He nudged the kitten back towards the nest of altar boy robes. "I think I needed to see that."

[ooc: The church is, as always, quite open.]

( This ain't no disco )

His back struck brick and Castiel blinked. The area was familiar, though it was clearly not Van Nuys. Nor was it where he usually went when banished.

His knees folded and he dropped to the pavement.

He could figure out details later. For now, he was content just to flop to the ground and breathe, for a minute.

[ooc: expecting one. The Cass is back in town! Booyah!]

In Castiel's experience, humans were best left to fend for themselves. So despite his apparent son being half-angel, Castiel figured it was probably better for everyone concerned if he let Cas do his own thing.

The boy would tell him if he needed something, right?

Oh yeah, Castiel was the best parent, ever.

[ooc: Expecting folks in particular, but the church is always open!]

It had come to Castiel's attention that he spent rather a lot of time talking about Hell -- in perhaps too great detail -- but he hadn't detailed Heaven. Well, he could rectify that easily enough now that canon has given his mun some idea. He actually kind of smiled at the congregation when he stood before them, today. Which, you know, was kind of creepy, but whatever.

"Heaven," he said, "is Paradise. ( And he went on from there )

[ooc: I love my canon. OCD coming up! And away we go.]

The first thing Castiel did today was stare out across the congregation looking perturbed.

"You," he said, choosing his words carefully, "are not my father's creatures."

Someone had taken a walk in the fog before coming in to do his sermon.

"You are unholy, unnatural creatures in this realm and you are not where you belong. I do not know what purpose you have in coming here today, but if it is to cause trouble or danger, then be aware that I will smite you. I am a warrior of God and it is my charge to protect this town."

Well, not really. No one had actually told him to do that. He'd just kind of ended up here. He was a very fierce looking angel when he got angry, though. Especially with the barest hint of power flickering about his shoulders and the slight reshaping of the shadows behind him to what just might be the outline of wings.

"You will not succeed," he said. "You will die and you will be cast down into the very pits of Hell to be tormented for eternity to suffer for your crimes, without hope of appeal. You are not my father's creatures."

Then he relaxed. "Unless, of course, you are here on a mission of friendship. In which case, I welcome you and warn you that it's not the custom of the people of this world to throw pine cones and engage in friendly battle."

[ooc: Castiel is foggified, and will fight if attacked. Otherwise, he might harass you with vague threats and questions about the monkeypony world and customs.]

Castiel was all set to give one hell of a sermon, today. Well, almost all set. First he had to finish slicing some of these apples.

Look, it would all make sense when he got to the sermon, okay?

. . . er.

Well, it would have all made sense when he got to the sermon, except that apparently someone thought they were pretty funny, and instead of Castiel standing at the altar ready to slice some apples, there was now a little Castiel action figure on top of the altar holding a knife.

Later, he would conclude that this was part of the apple being forbidden fruit.

Today's sermon was all about procreation and the Miracle of Life (yeah, that phrase clearly had verbal capitals on it. It's a talent). Having already put a fair amount of time explaining about the first step of procreation -- being what many people chose to get up to with their various bits -- Castiel instead focused on the later steps, especially the birth.

It was Castiel, he went into far too much detail. Far, far too much detail.

[ooc: but I will not. Now in the right place! OCD on its way is up]

Even when most of the island was off gallivanting in the surf, it was still Castiel's duty to provide the people who stuck around with a sermon every Thursday.

Today's topic: the Golden Rule.

With some really specific examples. A few of which could be summarized with the phrase "reach-around".

He really probably needed to lay of the fanfiction.

[ooc: no OCD today.]

Castiel stepped up behind the podium looking stern and studious. His trench coat was in order, his tie was no more in disarray than usual, and his expression was bland. In fact, there was absolutely nothing strange or amusing about his appearance or mannerisms at all.

Okay, so there was a ketchup stain on his lapel. That didn't count.

"I thought that today I would open the floor up to questions," he said. Because even angels had days when they couldn't think of anything to say.

[ooc: My brain will actually kick back into gear any moment now, I swear. . . . OCD is up.]

Castiel was . . . still wearing the three piece suit.

The little old lady in the front of the church was thrilled.

Today's sermon was about Being Yourself. Unfortunately, Castiel still wasn't entirely certain what "Being Yourself" actually meant, or what it had to do with interacting with other people, or why it was such a good, important thing. He was rather under the impression that, being oneself, Being Yourself was the default setting. After all, the vast majority of humanity had no shape-changing, psychic imprinting abilities.

Shapeshifters. Now they might have trouble Being Yourself. And those who were possessed. And those suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder. But he didn't fall under any of those categories.

Well, okay, so he was kind of possessing Jimmy Novak, so no one ever saw what he really looked like and sounded like. But again, that actually had nothing at all to do with what his vessel was wearing.

In conclusion: Be Yourself. Just don't ask Castiel why.

[ooc: OCD coming up]

The little old lady who sat at the front of the church had started asking Castiel daily questions about sexual deviancy. This, to Castiel, meant that it was time to revamp his "God doesn't care what you do with your reproductive organs" sermon again.

You know, the one that came with props.

Anyway, the basic gist of it was this: God had better things to worry about then what you got up to with your reproductive organs, as did angels. In fact, some angels had been known to make use of your desire to use your reproductive organs creatively to their own gain. No one was going to damn you for having fun, be it by yourself, or with other partners, whatever that other partner's gender or preference in bed. As long as you're all having fun and no one is doing anything they don't actually want to do, you're good.

Of course, being Castiel, he was far to specific in his detailing of examples of what sorts of things seemed to be considered "deviant" and "subversive" in Earth's western culture. His sophistication with visual aids had progressed to including PowerPoint presentations. And the occasional video on YouTube. Thankfully, he hadn't progressed to the point of having a projector, so most people wouldn't actually be able to see the PowerPoint presentation or the videos on his tiny laptop screen.

The handcuffs, though, those he passed around with the collections plate.

[ooc: I continue to kind of love this topic for Castiel. Also, that little old NPC lady totally seems to be developing a somewhat wicked glee in getting her religious leader to talk about the crazy stuff. Oh, and the OCD is up, too.]

Someone had filled the holy water fonts with rum. Castiel was doing his best to ignore this.

His topic for his sermon today seemed important enough that he'd written himself several note cards, but when he went to the pulpit to give the sermon, he found himself unable to use them.

Someone had snuck in and scratched out several key words and replaced them with the word "squirrels".

He was stuck winging it (so to speak) again.

"I would like to speak to you all today about forgiveness. There is saying amongst your kind that 'to err is human; to forgive, divine.' This is very much true -- one of the many things the Lord has gifted humanity with is the opportunity to repent and earn His forgiveness for one's sins. So long as one lives and breathes, one can repent for any transgression and be forgiven for it. It must be true repentance, of course -- contrary to some historical beliefs, repentance cannot be replaced with monetary gifts.

"Humanity, of course, has the ability to forgive each other, as well. It is not always an easy task, but it is a noble one, and one I encourage each of you to practice in your day-to-day lives. If someone has trespassed against you and truly repents his or her actions, search deep within yourselves for that power of forgiveness. It will improve not only the other person's life, but also your own."

He went on to provide examples of various transgressions both small and appallingly large, for which one might be forgiven, either by the other party or by the Lord, and finished off with a brief note that, contrary to what some might believe -- and here he looked down at his note cards, neither "forgivness", "repentance", or "the Lord" were synonymous with "squirrels".

[ooc: Church is in session. Now with 100% more rum.]

Castiel being, well, Castiel, didn't notice anything different until the little old lady who always sat in the front came in, all shivery and complaining about the snow and the cold and how nice it was that the church had a fireplace, you know, she hadn't noticed that before, had Castiel?

He hadn't.

He tried to turn on the lights, succeeding only in getting a dim flickering that was less illuminating than torchlight -- he was always better at turning things off than turning them on -- so after a few moments making certain that the place was ventilated, he put up torches.

There. The place was perhaps still a bit chillier than was optimal -- a space as large as the church wasn't the easiest thing to warm -- but it had a certain . . . atmosphere that Castiel decided he rather approved of.

Perhaps he'd keep the torches around for awhile.

[ooc: the church is, as always, open, but I'm about to run off to work, so any interactions with Castiel will be on pause till after about 10 PM eastern time.]