Metatron? The Metatron?? The short hair at the back of John's neck stood on end at the casual way Adam tossed off the name. He hadn't met the gent personally, but he knew exactly what he was, and that this Adam was apparently on a first-name basis with him spoke volumes about the boy's status.
It also helped explain part of the general weirdness about this place. Only part of it, though.
He considered the question for a moment, as well as Adam's delf-described duties. "Makin' sure that no one gets hurt." If he were to take that literally, it could mean that this place was a sort of metaphysical no-man's-land, a neutral ground for the other-than-human. In which case Crowley and the angel were probably all right, and he needn't worry overmuch about his own neck while he was here.
On the other hand, it could mean something very different. And for all this Adam might be an extraordinary kid, he was still just one kid. John knew only too well how quickly things could get out of hand when you had multiple celestials rubbing elbows in close quarters. Throw a few clueless humans into the mix, and you'd have yourself the perfect recipe for disaster.
Deciding that honesty, or something very close to it, might be the best policy in this case (especially seeing as how he wasn't sure he could tell the boy an outright lie,) he hefted the bundle and said, "Got a delivery to make. Care package of sorts. I've had some trouble trackin' down the intended recipients, though; I heard they might've come around this way. Anthony Crowley, Esquire, or a Mr.," he glanced at the obvious pseudonym he'd jotted down on the package, "Fell. Don't suppose you've seen 'em?"
"Oh," he added, "and if you're in charge of security, you might want to have somebody pull that old Bentley up here and get it properly parked. Not a good idea at all, leavin' that sort of thing just sitting around in the open, where anybody could wander up and poke around it." He cocked one eyebrow meaningfully. "Trust me."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2005-08-22 08:00 pm (UTC)It also helped explain part of the general weirdness about this place. Only part of it, though.
He considered the question for a moment, as well as Adam's delf-described duties. "Makin' sure that no one gets hurt." If he were to take that literally, it could mean that this place was a sort of metaphysical no-man's-land, a neutral ground for the other-than-human. In which case Crowley and the angel were probably all right, and he needn't worry overmuch about his own neck while he was here.
On the other hand, it could mean something very different. And for all this Adam might be an extraordinary kid, he was still just one kid. John knew only too well how quickly things could get out of hand when you had multiple celestials rubbing elbows in close quarters. Throw a few clueless humans into the mix, and you'd have yourself the perfect recipe for disaster.
Deciding that honesty, or something very close to it, might be the best policy in this case (especially seeing as how he wasn't sure he could tell the boy an outright lie,) he hefted the bundle and said, "Got a delivery to make. Care package of sorts. I've had some trouble trackin' down the intended recipients, though; I heard they might've come around this way. Anthony Crowley, Esquire, or a Mr.," he glanced at the obvious pseudonym he'd jotted down on the package, "Fell. Don't suppose you've seen 'em?"
"Oh," he added, "and if you're in charge of security, you might want to have somebody pull that old Bentley up here and get it properly parked. Not a good idea at all, leavin' that sort of thing just sitting around in the open, where anybody could wander up and poke around it." He cocked one eyebrow meaningfully. "Trust me."