d-did some time skip is that coolpaterelohimNovember 21 2011, 03:57:36 UTC
Um...
[He thinks, then gives an address - a street corner - because it has a CVS next to a pretty good diner. Once they get there, Chuck straightens up, hands his cane off to Michael with a deep breath, and goes in, coming out less than five minutes later with another jug of some sports drink or another. Which he promptly shoves at the angel, taking his cane back.
[For a brief - very brief he almost debates suffering Chuck's cooking just to avoid the dinner but really doesn't want to do anymore angel flight until his head stops pounding.]
Let's get this over with then. [So this is him holding back a sigh before entering the establishment and heading for the table in the quietest and darkest corner. He doesn't bother looking at the menu.]
[Chuck follows him and orders for him, getting from the waitress an entire pot of coffee, which he immediately starts pouring for Michael, a bagel for himself, and an obnoxiously large breakfast with two different kinds of meat, three carbs, and a plate of eggs. Trololo.]
Hey, uh, don't forget to keep drinking the Gatorade.
...What is it with you guys? Eating meat is natural. Your vessel was designed for it. Animals eat each other.
Isn't there some kind of dominion-over-all-life reason that it'd be okay?
[Besides Balthazar, Anna, and Cas eat meat and clearly God is fine with one of them. Dur. But Chuck is keeping that thought to himself this morning, out of a vested interest in his head staying attached to his neck.]
Humans were designed for it, angels were not. That's not even the issue. I've seen how you treat your livestock these days. In a city like this one it wouldn't surprise me if they're penned up flank-to-flank then processed with machines before you wrap it in plastic and freeze it.
[Give him a cow raised on a wide-open green pasture and then handled by a good ol' fashioned butcher and Michael would be perfectly fine eating meat. If God hadn't wanted people to eat the animals then they wouldn't have been made fit to eat.]
[The question hits him oddly; it takes him a second to remember where he is. Sitting in a diner talking about eggs, nothing more. There are no trumpets here, nothing at all bigger than "drink water and for the love of Christ don't shotgun."]
...Because. I don't know. Hangovers blow. I don't want you guys to PMS and blow up the city or try blocking out the sun or something.
[Michael is oblivious to Chuck's inner dilemma but he does smile at the reason he does give. He might have laughed but the extra sound would make him regret it.]
I hardly think I'd do either of those just because of a hangover. Though a cloudy day would be nice.
I'll take your word on it. My solution was just going to become a hermit in my apartment until I felt better. [Yes, he did just say he has an apartment. This is Michael...living like a human. Sort of.]
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[He thinks, then gives an address - a street corner - because it has a CVS next to a pretty good diner. Once they get there, Chuck straightens up, hands his cane off to Michael with a deep breath, and goes in, coming out less than five minutes later with another jug of some sports drink or another. Which he promptly shoves at the angel, taking his cane back.
That was his exercise for the day. Damn.]
Okay. This diner- this place is good.
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Is food really that necessary? [Diners are loud with clanking silverware and plates and people.]
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Yeah, it- it is. I promise.
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Let's get this over with then. [So this is him holding back a sigh before entering the establishment and heading for the table in the quietest and darkest corner. He doesn't bother looking at the menu.]
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[Chuck follows him and orders for him, getting from the waitress an entire pot of coffee, which he immediately starts pouring for Michael, a bagel for himself, and an obnoxiously large breakfast with two different kinds of meat, three carbs, and a plate of eggs. Trololo.]
Hey, uh, don't forget to keep drinking the Gatorade.
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He's alternating between coffee and Gatorade - one cup of coffee, then one large portion of the odd liquid.] I'm not eating animals.
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Isn't there some kind of dominion-over-all-life reason that it'd be okay?
[Besides Balthazar, Anna, and Cas eat meat and clearly God is fine with one of them. Dur. But Chuck is keeping that thought to himself this morning, out of a vested interest in his head staying attached to his neck.]
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[Give him a cow raised on a wide-open green pasture and then handled by a good ol' fashioned butcher and Michael would be perfectly fine eating meat. If God hadn't wanted people to eat the animals then they wouldn't have been made fit to eat.]
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What about chicken? Chickens are dumb. They don't care. Or- uh, this place has smoked salmon. You need protein.
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Why are you bothering to help when you gave us advice which we so clearly ignored?
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...Because. I don't know. Hangovers blow. I don't want you guys to PMS and blow up the city or try blocking out the sun or something.
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I hardly think I'd do either of those just because of a hangover. Though a cloudy day would be nice.
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You'll feel better soon. I promise.
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