Here is the ever handy-dandy Critique & Contact post. Have suggestions, questions, or critique for how I play Sam Oliver? Whatever it is, feel free to hit me up on this post. ♥ Comments will be screened.

Also, if you ever need to contact me regarding plotting, dropped, tags, or if just want to get in touch with me -- feel free to give me a poke here, along with any of these contacts:

AIM: along cat is long
Y!M: potatosforpowerwrist
E-mail: aeloriax [at] gmail.com
Personal LJ: ignipotent

YO DAMIEN! I'm really happy for you and I'm gonna let you finish, but—

Sam Oliver is the best spawn of Satan of all time. OF ALL TIME!!

[ the clatter of a communicator as it hits the floor, followed by a harsh buzz of static--]

What the hell was—

Juuuuuust kidding! Funniest one of the day, don't you think? Oh, fuck my life.

I've never read the bible, not even a single page of the first chapter - whatever it's called, Book of Job? I've never been to church. I've never prayed. In high school, when we read Paradise Lost, I scanned over one paged and then used the book for a coaster. I didn't know what terms like Benediction, Holy Trinity, Anti-Christ, or Salvation even meant.. I didn't even know that a Demon was actually a fallen angel.

And so the story goes, on my 21st birthday I find out my parents sold my soul to the Devil. The real goddamn devil, not some fancy pants metaphor. Yeah, I knew I was fucked. That I'm on course for Hell, even if I've done nothing to deserve it. It wasn't until I came here that started to really realize the truth. To think hard and long about what's waiting for me in the end. Back home, things snapped past me too fast for everything to sink in -- I mean, within a few months of selling my soul, I was buried alive and my Dad with me. He died.

I don't think it's even sank in that he's gone. I didn't have time for that.

But now I have all the fucking time in the world. Time to Breathe. Too much time to think and reflect and imagine what it will be like to burn in hell. Get ripped to pieces or basted or flayed or whatever terrible shit they do down there. I should read Dante's Inferno, shouldn't I?

But to top it off? I get to be the Devil's bounty hunter! Bet you didn't know that. The soul thing, yes. But the Reaper thing? The whole sending back escaped souls with crazy powers back to hell deal? Sounds awesome, doesn't it? Except every time, there's a high chance that I'll be killed. And if I'm killed, guess where I get to go?

It's not something I can put off in my mind. I can't tell myself not to worry and just live the life I've got to the fullest. Even if I wasn't his bounty hunter, Satan still makes sure I know he's there, you know? Ice cream socials. Transporting me to awkward places or for a showing of dead bodies. Or dying bodies. Or appearing in my bed or on my toilet just before I'm about to take a piss. Do you know how many times that bastard has tried to tempt me? He's failed every time, but I wonder- I wonder if what Tony said that night. That night he tried to fucking bury me alive is true. He brought it up too, didn't he?

We're connected irrevocably, and it's something I can't change. Sometimes it's fucking frightening to think about.

Oh, come on. I didn't even do anything! Sure, I may have put my parking ticket on Ted's car or threw bags of flaming shit at houses when I was fifteen, but I haven't killed anyone.

[ rattling of metal prison bars ]

I'm a good guy, okay! The devil may owns my soul, but that isn't a crime in itself, right? It wasn't my fault-- I mean, this is complete bullshit. You've got mass murderers and idiots that go around bombing City buildings out there, and you put me in jail? Holy shit! What could I do? Try and steal an old guy's cane, only to have him kick me in the balls?

[there's a pause of silence, like the communicator has cut off, only snap on a few minutes later.]

...What? Why? Why would that even- If you ask me, ask anyone here, they would say what I did was a good thing. Good for everyone! The fucking hero always destroys evil in the movies, right? It didn't even work, and in the end I was tri-

[ more rattling of bars ]

Let me out.

[ooc: ... He was in a demon rebellion to murder Satan. Obviously, it didn't work at all. But attempted murder is attempted murder. ]

[ There's the flush of a toilet and an audible yawn. However, the camera is luckily focused away from the latrine and toward the mirror. Obviously, the city does not some modicum of decency. Or maybe it was random luck.]

What's with all those dogs today? I thought the whole chase-me-to-death routine stopped a long time ago.

[ He steps toward the mirror, turning on the faucet as he prepares to wash his face. Wait. His face? This wasn't-]

HOLY SHIT! Castiel, what are you- Are you some sort of creeper? Angels aren't supposed to be perverts, right? Then why are you standing in my fucking bathroom?

[ Strange how Castiel's mouth moved as he spoke. Unless...oh god damn. ]

Why is his mouth following my words? Where is my reflection- [ He places a hand against his - Castiel's face, patting the cheek as to see whether this was really happening. ]

Aha ... hahaha, I'm in his body, aren't I?

....

HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? FOR THE LOVE OF- WHY I AM I IN HIS BODY? WHY IS HE IN MY BODY?

[Amidst his panic, he steps back right into the bathtub. Losing his balance, he tumbles over and into the bathtub, nearly hitting his head against the tile wall in the process.]

...Ow.

What.

First the dogs, the air conditioner, then Satan in my car, now this-

[ a sudden loud FUCK ]

That's it! I really am going crazy. It's the only way to explain this entire fucking day, including the fact that I'm standing by a creepy carousel and fancy water fountain that DOESN'T EXIST IN SEATTLE OR BELLEVUE OR ANYWHERE I'VE EVER BEEN.


what

is

this

i don't even-


I've gone completely off the deep end.

Fuck my life.


[ooc: Procrastination, procrastination. But er, caught the tail-end of today's curse. >_> He's rewound back to the first episode of the series, where he first meets the devil and thinks he's crazy.]

Put three guys in one apartment with a kitchen, and you're just asking for all hell to break lose. Aside from the few times we've accidentally stove on fire, we've - or more like Sock - have made things that could probably be considered an official health hazard. Or even a chemical hazard.

I'm not talking about Beerios (You know, Beer + Cheerios), aka Breakfast for Rockstars. I'm talking about shit like taking all the leftovers in the fridge, shoving them into a food processor, and using that for a casserole. None of us ate it, by the way. Well, except Sock.

Perhaps the worst monstrosity Sock has ever created is Bacon Coffee. Sure, a strong cup of Joe is good with your usual bacon, eggs, and sausage. But brewing coffee beans with bacon? It was absolutely horrific. And guess what? I managed to save some pictures on my phone, so all of you are in for a treat.

( Bacon Coffee | The How - To Guide )

But why bother bringing this up and making everyone on the network nauseous? Well, I found this on one of the shelves. I can't believe eople actually buy this crap, And I thought Sock was crazy.

...Man, I really miss the guys.

[ooc: Pictures from here.]

It's refreshing to see people not complaining about the City for once. I realize bitching and moaning is an epidemic here, but come on - the City isn't that bad. Consider it a vacation. Pour yourself a shot of vodka or make yourself a pina colada and relax.

Because you know what? All your problems at home are miles away, stuck in an entirely different universe and (supposedly) frozen in time. Why worry? Sure, it can get sort of boring, but you can't forget about the perks.

Besides, spending your time worrying about the City, means you're wasting your time. Live in the moment! You just never know when someone might just come and screw your future in the ass. You could get hit by a car! Or realize you're- you're...uh, impotent. Or that the entire world has succumbed to a zombie epidemic, and you're the last person on earth. And then your glasses break.

Okay, maybe not so much the last one. But you get what I'm saying - I'm happy to be here in the City. It's not that bad.

I've also realized something else today. My job back home doesn't completely suck. Instead being a waste of space, I'm actually doing some good for the world...even if it's sort of weird.

...There's a curse today, isn't there? Why else would I be blabbing like it's 3:00 AM at the bar. Why did I say that-

[ooc: Gotta go to dinner! Mom's birthday. I'll reply to tags once I get back. ♥]

Since this place is like a communal toilet for brain spew, there probably is someone here who has good advice. Like girls, for instance, who understand the complicated, inner mechanisms of the female mind.

So here's how the story goes: My girlfriend dumped me.

I need advice on how to win her back. This is the girl I've loved since high school - the girl who I survived a car crash with and who's ex-boyfriend went Freddie Krueger on me. We've been through escaped souls and demons thick and thin together, and I'm not just going to let everything fall apart because of something completely out of my control.

You see, it wasn't like I cheated on her or we had a dysfunctional relationship. The problem is that she doesn't like who I was spending time with. Particularly, my parental  Fathe family. How am I supposed to fix that? I can't just cut ties with them, as much as I would like to.

It seems like an all-around impossible situation, but I can't let her go

...Why am I putting this up on the network, anyways?


( private to deities | unhackable (unless you're really tech savy) )

One of the benefits of the City are all the stories I'll have to tell once I return home. For instance, I was chased by my own underwear last Friday. How many people can attest to experiencing that? I swear, it felt like I was in some corny, C horror movie remake of The Crow, except each bird was replaced by white jockey briefs.

That will probably make a good party story.

Anyways, on to other matters- I've already put this off too long as it is. Since neither Nate or Andy have returned and I'm not young enough to leech off the City's social service system, I've got to get a roommate.

 I'm lazy and my previous advert was perfectly fine, so I'm going to pull a copypasta.


What do you get if you room with me? For starts, you get your own room.  I'm not the type to throw parties and am usually quiet, unless there's a curse that gives me a reason to yell. My room is a nuclear waste site, but I keep the living room and kitchen clean. I also can cook...sort of! My specialty is meat bread. I'm a heavy sleeper, so if you decide to cook at 3:00 AM , I promise I won't go crazy on your ass.

All and all, I'm pretty chill.

You told me that I wouldn't have to go now. You fucking TOLD ME I DIDN'T HAVE TO GO. I've done everything you said, risking my life for this whole Reaper crap and now you— Please. Not now, just give me some time. A decade or two, a few years, just not now. I've been doing a good job, haven't I? Every file completed with 100% success.

[ there's a choked sob forcing its way from his throat. Despite past situations, he had never been one to show such private emotion; however, whatever he's dreaming is enough to evoke a desperate reaction from him.]

I don't want to go. I don't want to go. Please not now, not while I'm still alive, just please-

[a sudden pause]

...Don't fucking call me that. I don't care if its true, you have no right to call me that regardless. My Father is dead. I don't want to hear that word from your mouth.

I'm going to take a good guess and say that I was cursed yesterday. Why else am I holding on to a half-finished bottle of Vodka with a prostitute in my bed. Why the hell is there a prostitute in my bed?! I'm not that desperate! There's also a nice suit tossed on the floor with several thousand in hundred dollar bills in the pockets. And I don't wear suits. I'm the casual, don't-give-a-damn sort of guy.

...I'd ask someone to enlighten me, but I'll probably regret it. Maybe it's best to stay pleasantly oblivious then have a reason to finish the other half of this bottle tonight.

Fuck, I have a hangover.

What an exciting place we've got here. Faces from all over the multiverse, a bustling City full of invigorating, interesting souls all tucked away in a City where you can just hide away from reality. Brilliant, isn't it?

...But you know what, I may have been lying to you. In fact, that whole spiel was lie.

If I'm going to play honest here, I have to say that all of you positively bore me. A bunch of idiots milling around complaining and whining and rambling on about all the petty, little problems in your life. Oh, I'm cursed! Oh, I've been turned into a little kid! Oh, I'm a woman! This isn't a vacation, this is a complete drag! I'm serious.

Yawn. I think I should have chosen the Hawaii present. The beach, a Pina Colada, and a bunch of pretty girls. What else could a guy ask for? But I guess I couldn't really do the girl thing, since a Senator has to keep his image up. Not that I'm worrying. I've certainly have them hooked on my charisma — learned from the best you know.

But since it seems I'm stuck here for the meanwhile. Anyone want to play cards or billiards? Maybe some cock fighting, bird or human? We could cast some bets and have some real fun.

Come on, any takers?

[ooc: Cursed with Road Not Taken. Have an Evil!Sam, proud son of Satan.]

Now that everyone knows my Father sold my soul to the devil, I guess there's no point in trying to come off as a perfectly normal loser. Instead, I'll just be a freakish loser. Whatever, I don't even care anymore.

Right now, I want to sink myself in a tub of ice and not come out until winter because it's fucking hot. Can't the deities turn off the heat switch?

...And does anyone know where Nate is? He's doesn't usually disappear like this, unless...he returned home. Does anyone know for certain?

[private to self | viewable thanks to curse]

He may try to convince me otherwise, but I can't hate Dad. Even if he did sell my soul to the Devil, it wasn't like it was for a stupid reason. I mean, he was dying and as much as I complain, I can't fault him for wanting to live. I would have wanted him to live.

I probably would have offered my soul on my own, if it meant saving Dad. What can I say? He's my Father. He raised me and loved me. He taught me how to tie my shoes, how to play baseball, how to make farting noises with my armpit. All the little things that brought me to where I am today. It doesn't matter that-

...It doesn't matter that he isn't my real Father.

But what is blood worth in the end? Shit. He didn't fucking raise me. He wasn't the one I called Dad for twenty-one years of my life. The only thing that bastard can do is make my life a living hell.

I'm not his son. I'm nothing like him at all.

I just wish Andy could understand and give me a second chance.

Do you think someone could ever beat the devil at his own game? For instance, say that he owns your soul, but you manage to trick him out of owning it?

...As you can tell, I'm bored out of my mind and have too much time on my hands to think of stupid questions. The next question will probably be: Who passes more gas? Women or Men.

...Seems like I've lost my billiards and drinking partner.

I'll admit it. I'm going to miss you, Crowley

If we are in a City where people are turned into the opposite sex and wild animals, and where conservative individuals suddenly become serious sexual deviants, shouldn't a magical meteor shower equal magical wishing stars? You know, if the words of Jiminy Cricket, if you wish upon a star...

I was sorely disappointed that a posher, pot of gold, a year supply of junk food and booze, and a pack of new Fruit of the Loom underwear (briefs, not man panties) were not in front of my door in the morning.