I'm the daughter of The British Government and just moved back to London this year. Sixteen. Currently obsessed with demons and studying demonology. (Shh! Don't tell anyone.)
((Independent RP blog. Will RP with anyone. Tracking Dianaholmes like a hawk. Hit me with some M!As))
FC: Alexis Bledel
Might not be back until tomorrow
The Gruffalo? What’s that one about? *sits down to listen*
It’s about a little brown mouse who goes for a walk in the deep dark wood. [Bon recites, knowing the entire story off by rote.]
*Diana smiles, listening to Bonnie’s story, chuckling* Wow. You know that one inside and out. *pause* Who reads it to you?
[She grins, nodding.] Uh huh! I know it all off by heart! Sometimes Daddy, sometimes Papa. It depends who puts me to bed… the best times is when they both read to me!
*Diana nods sadly, looking away* Yeah… must be nice… *literally twiddles thumbs* Hey, Bon… um… they’ve talked to you about how we might… will be getting a sibling soon, haven’t they?
Diana smirked at the image as well. “I can only see Mycroft sitting in a corner, all surly and wondering what the hell he’s doing letting a child manage things.” She mimicked his more wicked tones as she said child, then shook her head, resting her hands on the table, inspecting her fingernails. “I just… I don’t even know if he wants me around, anymore. Lestra—Greg says he does, but… somehow, I have a hard time believing it.”
“Maybe you can get Greg to mediate then. He’s pretty good at it, honestly. And I know he wants you around, Di. You’re his daughter. I know you guys don’t get along, but he would never not want you around.” He sighs, looking down at the table and thinking of his own dad and their fights.
Diana still wasn’t so sure, but Hamish seemed convinced, and that was good enough for now. “Thank you, Hamish. I guess I should talk to Greg about it, or… something.”
She scratched a nail into the table, transfixed on a smudge and trying to dig it out. She sighed, letting her cheek rest in her palm of her free hand.
“I just… feel like… the odd one, most of the time. Like Greg and Mycroft have this perfect little life, and even if they’d like to have me around… I sort of get in the way.” She looked up at him. “Is that normal? Do you ever feel like that?”
Remind me who I’m owing right now
‘Cuz I have Crowles and Dimmock and Hamish in the works
I think I missed a chunk of my dash
He laughed. “No need for apologies. I’m your tutor, so I’m going to give you the best education I can. Don’t hesitate to ask questions.”
“By binding, I just mean a devil’s trap. Whether or not it pisses off the demon depends on the demon and their mood. Get one into it, and they lose their powers and can’t go anywhere. It even supersedes a summoning spell- your binding will prevent them from being summoned anywhere. Generally, a demon will attempt to bargain or threaten their way out. Once you’ve successfully bargained with them, they’ll go their own way, usually, unless you have a previously standing relationship with them or something.”
“There is a binding that will bind them to you, but that is…rather intimate magic and requires their permission or at least some participation on their part. We’ll get to that later, that’s its own whole can of worms. No, you usually wouldn’t want them bound to you forever, except in some circumstances.”
“The repercussions are potentially pissing the demon off enough to cause it to come after you, if you handle the bargaining poorly. The repercussions of other kinds of binding magic are having a demon bound to you. That can be quite dangerous, and it means that there’s a demon in your life. Although, you’re a little bound up in us already, aren’t you?” He smiled slightly at the frosting as he whipped it.
“If you’ll remember our history lesson, Solomon asked God for a way to keep demons and other creatures under control. He was the first to bind a demon. Have you been reading the grimoire I gave you?”
“Of course,” Diana said, folding the sketch of the banishing sigil twice before putting it into her bag; she would have practiced the sigil now as they talked, if she weren’t a bit squeamish about… bleeding. She’d have to deal with that particular squeam soon. Very soon. Just not now soon.
”I’ve been studying the grimoire, Latin, and everything else you’ve given me, but some facts and things… they get jumbled about in my head at times. I’m good at memorizing the sigils and symbols so far,” she looked around the room at the enochian again, “but some of the lore and stories… I can get vague on details. Though that’s just a matter of more study, isn’t it?”
Study, of course, wasn’t going to give her any talent at hunting demons. Talent that she was finding herself more and more desperate to prove she had. She gripped the strap of her backpack, thinking of the itching tattoo over her heart, the knives in her bag that she’d practiced using… a bit. Aside from her squeamishness—which might need experience to overcome anyway—she was completely prepared for a hunt… wasn’t she?
“Crowley, do you think I’m…”
No, she couldn’t ask that. Couldn’t ask if she was ready. She’d sound arrogant and eager and naive, as she sounded to anyone and everyone else. Besides, if he thought she was ready, he’d tell her.
“Yes, it is,” he said, considering her carefully. “Lore and things like that require immersion in the material. If you have questions about details I’d be happy to clarify. Please don’t feel afraid to ask questions, That’s rather what the point of these sessions is, is to clarify material you’ve been reading. We’ll need to start covering the hierarchy of Hell soon, now that you’ve kind of gotten your angels down. Unless you’d like to go over angels some more.”
Glancing at the clock, he realized that the macaroons were finished. Pulling them out of the oven, he smiled in satisfaction down at them before placing them gently on the cooling rack. Everything in its own time, he reminded himself. Every ingredient had a role to play in the finished product, and if one tried to hurry it along, it was no good. Half-baked macaroons were no good to him.
He glanced back at her. “If you have something to ask, I assure you, it is better to ask it.”
Diana glanced at her shoes. Then the ceiling. Then the enochian sigils. Then her shoes again. She smelled the macaroons, felt her stomach churn hungrily. She tried to think of a different question, something about Solomon or the lore or anything, but could only rewrite the first one, eyes still on her shoes.
“When do you think I’ll be ready?”
But what if the moment comes that you have to do it, and you can’t because you don’t know how?
Have you discussed this with your father, Castiel?
I’ll figure out how to, or I’ll just exorcise it or something.
No… I don’t think he’d want to teach me, though.
Why on earth not?! That could be one of the most useful things you could do as an angel! What if you’re in trouble? What if he’s in trouble? You need to know how to defend yourself, and that seems like the best way.
You’re stuck with this life, and they’re not even teaching you how to deal with it. That is negligence. Pure negligence.