[7.08] What is the biggest lie you've ever told?
Wife!Ruby for smart_alec494
She finds him with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. The dress -- dress!! -- and pearls she's wearing doesn't hold a candle to the scowl. (But then there's the heels and, god the pearls, and the total package is really quite pathetic.) The whole effect, however, would be absolutely adorable if she didn't look like she wanted to murder someone.
"Ruby?"
"Apparently I'm a bad wife," she snaps, shaking her head so her hair flies out of her face, settling across her shoulders. "I'm a bad wife because god for-fucking-bid I have a job to do."
The demon raises an eyebrow at her. This is new. "And that explains the dress?"
She looks down like she's forgotten the ghastly getup she's wearing. Her scowl deepens. "No, not hence the dress. This was for a... you know what? Not the point. The point is I am a bad wife because I'm a demon."
"I don't think--"
"Demon!" she interrupts, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. "Am I that soft that people have forgotten I'm of the demonic persuasion? I occasionally enjoy the slaughter of innocent people, puppies and small feline creatures. I am, in fact, intrinsically evil by default. Do I need to wear a nametag? Hi my name is EVIL?"
"I don't think it would match the dress."
She looks down at herself again and grimaces. "My poor boots are all alone," she moans, quietly, lifting up one of her classic black pumps, holding on to the heel like she wants to rip it off and chuck it. "Poor boots."
He's fighting back laughter, she knows he is. It just makes her scowl again. "Ru, I don't think that's the point."
"Huh?"
"Your boots, I don't think they're the point."
She blinks at him. "But... God look at these. They're so... 1950's housewife. I did the 50s with the Doctor. I wore a poodle skirt! A poodle skirt!"
"A poodle skirt? Pink satin, I assume?"
She shrugs. "I'm method."
He gave her a Look and she scowled harder. It was apparently her facial expression de jour. And apparently it was time to make with the explaining and not stalling. But still, her poor boots, left in Sam's care. She didn't want to have to kill him if they were ruined. "Word on the street is that since I up and left to help my lovable little not so Hey Zeus get his creeper brother back that I'm the big bad guy of the day.
"As if this wasn't my job from the beginning. It's like everyone forgot I was kind of rocking the Save Sam shtick from day one. But nooo, Dean drops dead and I'm supposed to quit? Screw that. I am not the bad guy here."
Her arms cross over her stomach, fingers digging in roughly at her waist. "I did not crawl out of Hell for this."
"What did you crawl out for?"
Her lips curve up in a smile at his question and her knife flashes out from under her skirt. The blood tricking over her fingers and the spark of the soul leaving the body makes her smile wider, reaching up to wipe a speckle of blood off of her cheek.
"Well... mostly for that."
She finds him with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. The dress -- dress!! -- and pearls she's wearing doesn't hold a candle to the scowl. (But then there's the heels and, god the pearls, and the total package is really quite pathetic.) The whole effect, however, would be absolutely adorable if she didn't look like she wanted to murder someone.
"Ruby?"
"Apparently I'm a bad wife," she snaps, shaking her head so her hair flies out of her face, settling across her shoulders. "I'm a bad wife because god for-fucking-bid I have a job to do."
The demon raises an eyebrow at her. This is new. "And that explains the dress?"
She looks down like she's forgotten the ghastly getup she's wearing. Her scowl deepens. "No, not hence the dress. This was for a... you know what? Not the point. The point is I am a bad wife because I'm a demon."
"I don't think--"
"Demon!" she interrupts, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. "Am I that soft that people have forgotten I'm of the demonic persuasion? I occasionally enjoy the slaughter of innocent people, puppies and small feline creatures. I am, in fact, intrinsically evil by default. Do I need to wear a nametag? Hi my name is EVIL?"
"I don't think it would match the dress."
She looks down at herself again and grimaces. "My poor boots are all alone," she moans, quietly, lifting up one of her classic black pumps, holding on to the heel like she wants to rip it off and chuck it. "Poor boots."
He's fighting back laughter, she knows he is. It just makes her scowl again. "Ru, I don't think that's the point."
"Huh?"
"Your boots, I don't think they're the point."
She blinks at him. "But... God look at these. They're so... 1950's housewife. I did the 50s with the Doctor. I wore a poodle skirt! A poodle skirt!"
"A poodle skirt? Pink satin, I assume?"
She shrugs. "I'm method."
He gave her a Look and she scowled harder. It was apparently her facial expression de jour. And apparently it was time to make with the explaining and not stalling. But still, her poor boots, left in Sam's care. She didn't want to have to kill him if they were ruined. "Word on the street is that since I up and left to help my lovable little not so Hey Zeus get his creeper brother back that I'm the big bad guy of the day.
"As if this wasn't my job from the beginning. It's like everyone forgot I was kind of rocking the Save Sam shtick from day one. But nooo, Dean drops dead and I'm supposed to quit? Screw that. I am not the bad guy here."
Her arms cross over her stomach, fingers digging in roughly at her waist. "I did not crawl out of Hell for this."
"What did you crawl out for?"
Her lips curve up in a smile at his question and her knife flashes out from under her skirt. The blood tricking over her fingers and the spark of the soul leaving the body makes her smile wider, reaching up to wipe a speckle of blood off of her cheek.
"Well... mostly for that."