[ He works quietly and efficiently. The advantage of being billions of years old - he can apply himself quite well to a task such as this. He keeps his eyes on the knife in his hands and the potatoes that get a quite careful, precise skinning. ]
I know. Prayer don't require you to give them voice aloud to be heard.
[ It's easier, for some reason, to pay attention to anything other than Castiel. She feels oddly scrutinized, oddly open, vulnerable, and she can't quite place why. She's not sure she wants to, either, or at the very least not right now. She likes Castiel, but she doesn't like being thrown off balance. Off-kilter things are reserved for a fun house, in her opinion, or a very good standup.
God, she misses comedy.
Miriam's checking on a stove that doesn't really need to be checked on when she speaks. ]
I wasn't praying, I was lamenting my existence, which, by the way--
[ Castiel pauses for a moment, features sharp with serious thought. ]
You called it a prayer. You called it lousy, though I would disagree.
[ A small gesture with the hand holding the potato, indicating: He is here, because he heard something from her, as is just assuming she knows the difference between reading a mind and sensing a yearning, and hearing a prayer. ]
I could read your mind, if I so pleased. I'm aware it's considered impolite, so I try to... stay out of people's heads, as a friend puts it.
[ Read: He could reach into her mind and pluck out everything he wanted to know, and there's not a thing she could do to prevent it. He doesn't, though. At least, not actively or deeply. ]
In regards to prayer: My friend Dean is "lousy" with them. You aren't.
[ He does the air quotes, awkwardly while holding potato and knife. ]
[ Midge inhales sharply at that--it's very much reading someone's mine, in her opinion, and to curb this she suddenly finds herself very busy with something-or-other on the stovetop for the umpteenth time. Not before smoothing her hands out on her apron, though.
She shouldn't be shaken up about it. She shouldn't. Castiel is an angel of the lord, then--so that's... That's real. Okay.
She inhales sharply, blinks rapidly for a few moments, and when she looks at Castiel, it's with an expression that's hard to read. ]
[ Castiel doesn't pry - at least not to his own understanding. He doesn't reach out into her mind, at this point in time, just feels the roll of her surface emotions like one would hear the ocean crash upon a cliff, or feel a boat rock on unsteady waters. He himself remains calm, almost impassive at first. ]
I agree.
[ Slowly setting his potato and the knife down, Castiel turns to Midge. His eyes rest on her with the weight of his age, the truth of his existence. It seems that the shadows grow a little more solid around his shoulders, shapes stretched throughout the room and cast against the ceilings and walls, briefly, before they fade. ]
You have a good soul, Miriam Maisel. It... you are meant for sweeter rest than this, eventually.
[ To Castiel, this is a truth both simple and tragic. ]
[ There it is again, that sharp inhale as her lips purse and her posture straightens. She's perfect, poised--a reflexive habit when things get a little to serious. The universe might be unfair but Midge has a string of pearls and a great sense of posture.
Does she imagine it? The weird flicker? There's a strange weight in the room, something she can't place--is it the village, is it Castiel's shift in demeanor, or is it just her imagination running away with how this conversation is going?
For the first time in a while, Miriam's at a loss for words. ] --I'm not better or worse than anyone else here, but I can't do anything. You're a freaking Angel, my closest friends here are a scientist and a cop, and there's 12 year olds running around with superpowers, if rumours are anything to go by.
[ Her hand flies up to her face, covering half of it, eyes scrunched closed. ] I'm sorry--I didn't mean to just dump this all on you. That's not fair.
[ Castiel says it, and then blinks slowly, realizing that the comment might not be as helpful as he thinks it is. Humans, he knows, rarely find clinical facts comforting. ]
Do remember that I've come to you. I wouldn't be here had I not intended to listen.
[ No one heard his prayers. Or at least... no one answered them, and he will not easily forget the hurt of that. ]
I've found few humans know to judge their value accurately.
[ Which admittedly goes both ways - Castiel has seen humans who value themselves highly above others for no discernable reason.
The next words, though, he chooses carefully. He has a feeling Miriam wouldn't appreciate his opinions on self-important men in power - at least not at this very moment. ]
You don't need to have powers for your existence - here or elsewhere - to have validity and value. I do not believe any of us belong here, but...
[ Castiel won't make a point out of it directly... but people like Midge are why he's chosen to die for humanity, more than once. This world full of people like Midge, whose biggest concern should be their grocery list and their children's schoolyard tussles, is worth it. They're works of art, all of them. ]
There's no use in things like me existing if not for humans like yourself. What would be the point of putting up a fight, if there's no one on whose behalf to fight? Your existence here is unfair to you, yet I look at you and that bright, sharp soul you have, and see the cause I will defend at all cost. Your importance lies in the simple fact that you exist. Have faith in yourself, if having faith in anything beyond that is difficult here; you do plenty by just being.
[ Midge listens. It's rare, getting Miriam to be quite long enough when she's in a tizzy--she's no longer the obedient housewife she was, despite appearances and the tasks she's given herself in Beacon. She's far more independent, stronger than she looks, except now.
Castiel really is an angel, she thinks, and that adds another layer to things, and that combined with the weight of everything--with the warmth and sincerity of Castiel's words, how his voice is strangely soothing despite its gravelly tone...
Well. It's absolutely unbecoming of her to cry in front of anyone, let alone a semi-stranger who she'd somehow summoned, but she curls on into herself, one hand wrapped around her torso protectively as the other raises up just in time to cover her mouth as she sniffles. ]
I want to go home.
Please tell me if my research into Judaism led me wrong here, I have 0 practical knowledge
[ For a moment, it's all Castiel can say. His shoulders slump, slightly. Not in defeat - it's just that he wishes this was a request he could grant, or at least answer more positively. He wishes, too, that he knew how to handle her sorrow better. She's not Dean or Sam, whose measure Castiel has taken for so long that he knows how they handle their pain - poorly, for the most part.
With Miriam... he imagines he's the worst person to try and help her pain.
So after a moment he does something Castiel tends to be profoundly uncomfortable with when done with people he's not close to, and even then not often something he does proactively without particular cause; he reaches out to touch her. A warm hand, light on her elbow.
He's not particularly good at hugging, but will not deny her that if it's a comfort to her. ]
I... suppose I could offer reassurances. It's just... I'm told I'm something of a poor liar.
[ Not entirely true. He did manage to lie to and betray Castiel and Sam and Bobby for the better part of a year. Still... not the point.
Lacking any other comforts, he falls back on what led him here... prayer. His own broken faith need not impact hers. So he speaks the Dayan ha'emet, the blessing for negative experiences... and funerals. Hers... he might not believe that this is any sort of afterlife, but however they ended up here, the fact remains that death was inolved in some way. ]
[ It's real. It's real, and Castiel says that much--and in a weird way, that helps. It soothes, though not completely, and it seems to do the trick.
The touch does more, though--Midge doesn't hesitate the moment she feels it, and she lowers her hand from her face to grab desperately at Castiel, pulling him into a hug. She should probably ask, but she's working on emotion now--she holds him as tight as she can, finding their height difference perfect to bury her face into his shoulder. He prays and she cries harder, completely unaware of anything but the only source of comfort that feels even remotely real. ]
Thank you.
[ She's not sure if she imagines it or not--she feels a strange woosh, a warm feeling, like something else holding her. Something ethereal.
Miriam's just glad she's found someone that she can confide in. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I know. Prayer don't require you to give them voice aloud to be heard.
no subject
God, she misses comedy.
Miriam's checking on a stove that doesn't really need to be checked on when she speaks. ]
I wasn't praying, I was lamenting my existence, which, by the way--
[ Oh.
Oh. ]
You can read my mind?!
no subject
You called it a prayer. You called it lousy, though I would disagree.
[ A small gesture with the hand holding the potato, indicating: He is here, because he heard something from her, as is just assuming she knows the difference between reading a mind and sensing a yearning, and hearing a prayer. ]
I could read your mind, if I so pleased. I'm aware it's considered impolite, so I try to... stay out of people's heads, as a friend puts it.
[ Read: He could reach into her mind and pluck out everything he wanted to know, and there's not a thing she could do to prevent it. He doesn't, though. At least, not actively or deeply. ]
In regards to prayer: My friend Dean is "lousy" with them. You aren't.
[ He does the air quotes, awkwardly while holding potato and knife. ]
no subject
She shouldn't be shaken up about it. She shouldn't. Castiel is an angel of the lord, then--so that's... That's real. Okay.
She inhales sharply, blinks rapidly for a few moments, and when she looks at Castiel, it's with an expression that's hard to read. ]
I don't think I belong here.
no subject
I agree.
[ Slowly setting his potato and the knife down, Castiel turns to Midge. His eyes rest on her with the weight of his age, the truth of his existence. It seems that the shadows grow a little more solid around his shoulders, shapes stretched throughout the room and cast against the ceilings and walls, briefly, before they fade. ]
You have a good soul, Miriam Maisel. It... you are meant for sweeter rest than this, eventually.
[ To Castiel, this is a truth both simple and tragic. ]
no subject
Does she imagine it? The weird flicker? There's a strange weight in the room, something she can't place--is it the village, is it Castiel's shift in demeanor, or is it just her imagination running away with how this conversation is going?
For the first time in a while, Miriam's at a loss for words. ] --I'm not better or worse than anyone else here, but I can't do anything. You're a freaking Angel, my closest friends here are a scientist and a cop, and there's 12 year olds running around with superpowers, if rumours are anything to go by.
[ Her hand flies up to her face, covering half of it, eyes scrunched closed. ] I'm sorry--I didn't mean to just dump this all on you. That's not fair.
no subject
[ Castiel says it, and then blinks slowly, realizing that the comment might not be as helpful as he thinks it is. Humans, he knows, rarely find clinical facts comforting. ]
Do remember that I've come to you. I wouldn't be here had I not intended to listen.
[ No one heard his prayers. Or at least... no one answered them, and he will not easily forget the hurt of that. ]
I've found few humans know to judge their value accurately.
[ Which admittedly goes both ways - Castiel has seen humans who value themselves highly above others for no discernable reason.
The next words, though, he chooses carefully. He has a feeling Miriam wouldn't appreciate his opinions on self-important men in power - at least not at this very moment. ]
You don't need to have powers for your existence - here or elsewhere - to have validity and value. I do not believe any of us belong here, but...
[ Castiel won't make a point out of it directly... but people like Midge are why he's chosen to die for humanity, more than once. This world full of people like Midge, whose biggest concern should be their grocery list and their children's schoolyard tussles, is worth it. They're works of art, all of them. ]
There's no use in things like me existing if not for humans like yourself. What would be the point of putting up a fight, if there's no one on whose behalf to fight? Your existence here is unfair to you, yet I look at you and that bright, sharp soul you have, and see the cause I will defend at all cost. Your importance lies in the simple fact that you exist. Have faith in yourself, if having faith in anything beyond that is difficult here; you do plenty by just being.
no subject
Castiel really is an angel, she thinks, and that adds another layer to things, and that combined with the weight of everything--with the warmth and sincerity of Castiel's words, how his voice is strangely soothing despite its gravelly tone...
Well. It's absolutely unbecoming of her to cry in front of anyone, let alone a semi-stranger who she'd somehow summoned, but she curls on into herself, one hand wrapped around her torso protectively as the other raises up just in time to cover her mouth as she sniffles. ]
I want to go home.
Please tell me if my research into Judaism led me wrong here, I have 0 practical knowledge
[ For a moment, it's all Castiel can say. His shoulders slump, slightly. Not in defeat - it's just that he wishes this was a request he could grant, or at least answer more positively. He wishes, too, that he knew how to handle her sorrow better. She's not Dean or Sam, whose measure Castiel has taken for so long that he knows how they handle their pain - poorly, for the most part.
With Miriam... he imagines he's the worst person to try and help her pain.
So after a moment he does something Castiel tends to be profoundly uncomfortable with when done with people he's not close to, and even then not often something he does proactively without particular cause; he reaches out to touch her. A warm hand, light on her elbow.
He's not particularly good at hugging, but will not deny her that if it's a comfort to her. ]
I... suppose I could offer reassurances. It's just... I'm told I'm something of a poor liar.
[ Not entirely true. He did manage to lie to and betray Castiel and Sam and Bobby for the better part of a year. Still... not the point.
Lacking any other comforts, he falls back on what led him here... prayer. His own broken faith need not impact hers. So he speaks the Dayan ha'emet, the blessing for negative experiences... and funerals. Hers... he might not believe that this is any sort of afterlife, but however they ended up here, the fact remains that death was inolved in some way. ]
For what it's worth, Miriam. I'm sorry.
shhhh its beautiful you're beautiful
The touch does more, though--Midge doesn't hesitate the moment she feels it, and she lowers her hand from her face to grab desperately at Castiel, pulling him into a hug. She should probably ask, but she's working on emotion now--she holds him as tight as she can, finding their height difference perfect to bury her face into his shoulder. He prays and she cries harder, completely unaware of anything but the only source of comfort that feels even remotely real. ]
Thank you.
[ She's not sure if she imagines it or not--she feels a strange woosh, a warm feeling, like something else holding her. Something ethereal.
Miriam's just glad she's found someone that she can confide in. ]