trickierthanthou: (Default)
[From the sound of it the communicator shocks him when he picks it up, but he ignores it.]

What the hell is going on now?

...hey. What ever happened to the reindeer, damnit?

Shit.
trickierthanthou: (→but first things first)
DEAR SANTA:

I want a pony for Christmas.

I want my chip taken out. Wouldn't that be a nice gift? Then I could give eeeeeeeveryone else something even better!

Aside from that, I want a ton of chocolate bars, gummy bears, sour straws, and other assorted candy. And I mean a ton literally.

I want a new mattress for my bed and flannel sheets. The good kind! It's damn cold in this place. Speaking of cold, some new clothes with lots of jackets included.

A jacuzzi.

A lamborghini.

No wait, an Ariel Atom. Hells yeah!

My own private jet.

I want a pendant for Castiel.
[Insert drawing of this symbol here.] Pure silver works best.

A wooden stake for Dean. I'm sure he wishes it worked. ♥

Oh, and my dog! Damn thing is liable to bite someone's hand off without me around.

Think you can handle that, Santa? Come on. It ain't even that hard of a list.

-Loki
trickierthanthou: (→casual conversation)
You know, there's a reason [Dad wiped the dinosaurs out and created you guys out of mud] those creatures were wiped off the face of the planet back home. And I don't remember saving a few--even in one of my pocket dimensions--so you fuck-ups really shouldn't be allowed to mess with time. Or genetics. Either way. You're going to hurt yourselves. Again.

[He gives up on that pointless speech and just shakes his head.]

In other completely unrelated news--HEY REINDEER. What was your name, Lambchop? Rudolph is festive enough, let's go with that. Rudolph the hospital reindeer. Hey, say it with a lisp and it's almost kinda catchy...

I got a proposition for ya.

This chip thing has to go and I hear you're the go-to guy for getting it gone. I do have powers and in return for this little favor I can grant you one wish. Anything you want, buck-o. Name it and it's yours just as soon as you get this funky thing outta me.

So whadda ya say? We got a deal? And if I gotta wait a month I will but sheesh...
trickierthanthou: (→I shall spread the buttery justice—!)
[Looks like someone discovered the human condition known as sleep. The Trickster is laid out on his side for all intents and purposes dead to the world. Anyone in Marshall 301/2 might have noticed he's been this lethargic lump on the bed for the past 48 hours or so. Also that he was gone for half of Sunday and when he returned is when he shut himself in his room and became very oddly quiet. Now he's asleep when the device turns itself on.

He appears to be wrapped up in one of the snuggies (zebra print!) that appeared during Halloween--only he wasn't here for Halloween. There is also a rather alarming amount of candy wrappers strewn across the bed with the Trickster. Someone has also discovered the very human reaction of a tummy ache due to too many sweets in a short period of time.

He groans and rolls over and that's when his hand slaps across the device--which, none-too pleased, decides to reward the Trickster with a hilariously ironic prank
ZZZAP that instantly wakes the pagan god with a start and a yelp.]

Gods be damned... Mother fucker--!

[He throws the device across the room where it hits the wall with a heavy THUNK and bounces onto the floor, turning off on the second tumble.]
trickierthanthou: (→it isn't funny anymore)
Whoooo, boy. And ol’ Luci thought I was slumming it before I wound up in this place. Who the hell did the decorating in this wanna-be hellhole? No, wait, don’t tell me—it’s another post-apocalyptic world with way too few people still hanging around in it. Am I right, or am I right?

[A sigh.] I mean, seriously. One Apocalypse wasn't enough? Am I supposed to fix this one too? Come on, I can't be made to fix everything for them!

[The speaker then goes quiet for some odd amount of time. His voice is softer and less flamboyant when it returns.]

Oh.

So this is how it's gonna be, huh? All right. I’ll play human. I won’t like it, but I’ll give it a good ol’ try. Hey, if I’m lucky—I might even be able to manage to make it back Home, huh? [He laughs humorlessly to himself.]

I hope you’re happy, Dean.

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the Trickster [Gabriel]

September 2011

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