The rectory of Our Lady of Fandom, Wednesday evening
So. Castiel had a girl's phone number. She seemed to be very nice, and quite wise in the ways of modern technology, entertainment, and apparel. She had promised to teach him how to dance.
Now he just had to figure out what he was supposed to do with said phone number. Was there some sort of etiquette in place here that as a human he would be aware of? What was his own phone number, just in case he had to leave her a message, as she'd said? Was it bad that he didn't actually know her name?
So many questions. He could think of only two people who might have the patience to answer them. He knew Chuck had business going on in New York which he was perhaps better off not interrupting, so that left Dean.
He looked over the little piece of paper with her number on it as he dialed, wondering if there was some deeper, esoteric meaning to the numbers, or the manner in which they'd been conveyed.
People were so difficult.
[ooc: for him at the other end of the line]
Now he just had to figure out what he was supposed to do with said phone number. Was there some sort of etiquette in place here that as a human he would be aware of? What was his own phone number, just in case he had to leave her a message, as she'd said? Was it bad that he didn't actually know her name?
So many questions. He could think of only two people who might have the patience to answer them. He knew Chuck had business going on in New York which he was perhaps better off not interrupting, so that left Dean.
He looked over the little piece of paper with her number on it as he dialed, wondering if there was some deeper, esoteric meaning to the numbers, or the manner in which they'd been conveyed.
People were so difficult.
[ooc: for him at the other end of the line]