AN: It is a cold day here in Michigan and I'm a little salty about it. We had snow several times over the weekend. *cue gagging noises* What does that have to do with the story? Nothing, but I really didn't have any author's notes except to thank the always patient and amazing Janice for her beta work so I decided to whine about the weather.
There's a little shout-out to MicheleChadwick!
And, yes, I really appreciate Janice's work!
* * *
Dean proved to be strongly resistant to Sam's idea, despite how very logical it seemed to Sam.
"The ghost in here was wearing a uniform, meaning she was likely part of the staff at the house. She said there are many here with me, so I think she means ghosts. Callista probably came in and pretty much killed everyone. She may even have trapped the spirits on purpose. So it makes sense that Mr. Marberry is here too," Sam had explained, more than once.
"And how often have ghosts actually helped us?" Dean had argued back, several different ways. He felt it was borrowing trouble to invite another supernatural entity out to play. Of course, he'd also tried to convince Sam to tie potholders to his feet, so his opinions had to be taken with a grain or two of salt. ("We could do it with our belts, Magic Mike," he'd said with a shit-eating grin. However, he'd refused the use of his shoelaces for the same purpose, as Sam had known he would, which gave Sam an out on the potholders. He looked stupid enough already.)
"A de facto Man of Letters is much more likely to understand what's going on and to have information we can use against Callista than just any ghost," Sam had argued back with regards to the summoning, fairly patiently, he thought.
In the end, Dean had capitulated, though not exactly gracefully. Of course, Dean's capitulation might have come about because he was distracted by the fridge "the size of a studio apartment" that was full of food. So now, as Sam finished his preparations for summoning the late owner of the estate, Dean raided the fridge with great enthusiasm.
Sam absentmindedly took a drink from the opened water bottle that appeared at his elbow and ate a few of the different things that showed up in the same area – peanuts, green grapes, and cheese cubes. Dean had long taken to putting finger foods within Sam's reach when he was distracted with some project and tended to forget to eat. Heck, he'd been doing that pretty much as long as Sam could read. Sam's stomach growled loudly after the first few bites hit, surprising him.
"Thanks, Dean," he muttered, going over the words of the summoning spell in his mind. He glanced up and for the first time he saw what Dean was eating. He was using a meat fork to take massive bites out of a whole cake, German chocolate by its appearance. Sam raised an eyebrow.
"'S not pie, but 's good," Dean told him around bites. "Try some." He picked a regular fork off the floor, wiped it on his pants, and held it out to Sam.
Sam shook his head at his perpetually adolescent brother, amused. But then he figured why not. Ignoring the proffered fork, he broke a piece of cake off with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. He might not be big on sweets, but the cake was wonderful. He childishly hoped it was Callista's favorite and she'd been looking forward to eating it.
"There y' go," Dean nodded, sounding proud for some reason.
By the time Sam was ready to summon Beaumont Marberry, they'd eaten enough of an eclectic combination of things from deviled eggs to ham-wrapped pickles (and a good half of the cake) that Sam felt nice and full. They'd each also emptied a few of the water bottles.
"Okay, I'm ready." Dean nodded so Sam lit the candles and squeezed a cut already on his hand into the one unbroken bowl he'd found since he only needed three drops. "Beaumont Whitley Marberry," he called after the third drop landed. "Amate spiritus obscure, te quaerimus, te oramus, nobiscum colloquere, apud nos circita."
There was no response for a moment and Sam was ready concede that it hadn't worked when a new voice spoke from the doorway. "What on Earth have you done to my kitchen?"
"Not us, Mr. Marberry," Sam hastened to say to the see-through man who'd appeared. He was slender and had carefully-combed white hair and a nice suit. He was also in a wheelchair. "I'm Sam and this is Dean. The mess was made by a poltergeist who was in here, a cook or someone who worked in the kitchen, judging by her uniform."
Beaumont's rather heavy brows lowered. "That was poor Mrs. Graham. She was, indeed, my cook."
"I'm guessing Callista, the witch, killed you and the cook?" Dean asked. "She's the one who dragged us here to kill us too, so any tips you've got to gank her, we're all ears."
"Hunters, then," Beaumont said, just a hint of condescension in the word. Sam was very aware of how he must look as the ghost's eyes traveled over both of them. "So you are the ones disrupting things," he continued, this time approvingly. He clenched his thin hands into fists. "The witch killed every person in the house or on the grounds. She stole all my worldly goods, brought her pets in for her twisted amusements, and she is endeavoring to steal my very soul. If I can help, I will, but I do not know how. She has the power of a demon behind her."
"We can handle a demon," Dean answered confidently. "We already took out the disgraced Man of Letters who was her boy-toy, and who was the one who told her about you, by the way. That's why she's so pissed at us."
The ghost hesitated. He spoke the next words with obvious reluctance. "It is difficult to imagine that you can handle a demon, and I cannot face the witch myself. In fact, I cannot stay out here long, because she has spells throughout the house to drive spirits mad so she can then harvest our energy. You should attempt to flee."
"Yeah, we tried that," Dean snapped. "And we have a demon-killing knife in the car, not to mention a couple exorcisms memorized. We've killed and exorcised more of Hell's moogs than you can imagine. In fact –" He stopped speaking but kept glaring when Sam held up a hand.
"We aren't just Hunters," Sam tried. "We're also Men of Letters ourselves. Legacies. Did you know Henry Winchester? He was our grandfather."
"Not Henry, no, though I had heard the name. He was just a child at the time. I was well acquainted with his father John Winchester, however. He was not disturbed by the fact that I am a cripple and advocated for me to be inducted as a full member of the society," Beaumont mused, looking at them in a new light. "He was a man of both intelligence and courage. Perhaps you have some chance…"
Sam blinked at the name. They hadn't even known that Henry's father was also named John. "Uh, you have a place to go where Callista can't, uh, get to you?"
Beaumont's eyes snapped back to Sam's, then to Dean's. He seemed to be weighing giving up some secret. Sam could feel that Dean was just about to tell him to hurry up or something equally unhelpful when the old ghost nodded. "Yes. It is hidden and she never found it when she searched the house. There are some items there that may be of use to you." He flickered. "I cannot stay longer. There is a servant's water closet under the north stairs. The back of the linen closet is a false wall. You will need to state that you are Men of Letters and a door will open."
"Your secret room is off a servants' bathroom?" Dean demanded.
"Naturally." Beaumont gave them his first real smile. "Who would think to look there?"
"Wait –" Sam tried, but the ghost was gone. He glanced at his watch which, unlike most of his clothes, had survived their ordeal so far. It had a tiny compass, so at least they knew what direction north was. "North is that way," he pointed toward the unblocked door. "I'm guessing the kitchen is on the first floor. What do you think our chances are of getting there without running into any more traps or monsters?"
Dean gave him a knowing look and, like usual, led the way. However, they didn't leave until they'd each loaded one of the cloth grocery bags Dean had found full of food and water. The bags were the type with a single long strap, so they each wore one cross-body style. That at least reduced how much they'd get in the way in the event of a fight.
They made it a grand total of five steps out of the room before they were accosted. Callista herself appeared. She was dressed in yet another outfit, this one a yellow sundress that made her appear young and nearly virginal if not for the blood that dotted the skirt and stained the hem. She didn't look as put together as she had the other times they'd seen her. Other than the blood, it was nothing dramatic – her straps were slightly askew and her hair had little flyaways – but Sam still thought it was significant.
"You are ruining everything!" she shouted as soon as she appeared. She didn't even acknowledge the fact that Dean shot at her. The bullet hit something invisible a few feet in front of her and dropped to the floor harmlessly. "You are not going where you are supposed to! The sea wolf is pitting his magic against mine! You freed a ghost and killed Mortimer!" She was screaming by the time she got to the last two words.
"You literally brought this on yourself," Sam stated. He thought of Fox Mulder asking "Did you really think you could call up the devil and ask him to behave?" but he would never mention anything that even implied Lucifer without a really good reason. His eyes darted all over their surroundings, trying to identify some way out. They were in what would have been termed a hallway if it had been narrower, and there were several doors and doorways, but all except for the kitchen were beyond Callista. They might have to retreat through the kitchen.
Sam was sure that Dean was doing his own calculations on how to kill someone who could put up an invisible bullet-stopping shield, but there was nothing but cockiness in his voice when he spoke up. "What, did you think we were going to just roll over and play dead or play by your 'rules'? Or join your little zoo? Yeah, that didn't work out so well for your booty call buddy Cuthbert either. Did you do your homework on us at ALL?"
Callista seethed, and Sam tensed to duck whatever she was about to fling at them. Instead, the witch threw some iridescent powder onto the floor in front of her. (Why could that fly through the shield, Sam wondered.) "The water dog released my rompos, and I nearly had them trained," she snapped. "So now you can deal with them. Or more likely, become food. Either way, one of the messes will be cleaned up. Ελευθερωση!" She spun theatrically and stalked away.
Sam's attention was on the powder, which coalesced and sparkled. A head popped up from it as if it were a hole in the floor. It didn't look particularly scary. Its face was something between a rabbit and a ferret with long whiskers and odd, human-like ears that were naked of the short fur that was an other-worldly color that seemed to vacillate among black, purple, and maroon. The creature put small paws on the edge of the "hole" and hauled itself out cautiously. It had a low, lean body reminiscent of a cheetah but oddly stocky front legs. Its long tail ended it a thick brush like a lion's. Minus tail, the body was only about three feet long. It was almost cute. Until it opened its mouth.
The rompo, if Callista had named it correctly, had a mouth more suited to a saber-toothed tiger than something the size of a low-slung labrador. It made a baritone growl that sounded like grinding gears.
Then a second head popped up. And a third. And a fourth.
Sam took a step backward toward the kitchen and Dean mirrored it without looking, in sync as usual. Though Sam had walked gingerly out of the kitchen, following a path that Dean cleared with his boots, he wouldn't have that luxury this time, and the potholders tied to his feet was sounding like a better and better idea, since he knew they didn't have an unlimited supply of the healing ointment.
Before they got any further, the first rompo leaped at Dean. He dispatched it easily with his knife, but the other creatures hadn't waited. In seconds, the room was filled with sounds: growls, shrieks, curses, and bangs. Sam and Dean fought back-to-back and it was brutal. More and more creatures poured out of the spell-hole. They were small but vicious and fearless, and they attacked en masse. It was too frenetic to allow them to make their way in any specific direction.
Somehow during the fighting, Sam and Dean ended up on the far side of the spot the rompos were still coming through.
"We can't keep this up forever," Dean grit out, flinging one rompo into the wall and kicking away another.
He was right. "Hang on," Sam panted back. He tried to study the doors around them while still keeping any rompos from munching on him. Every closed the door had some kind of symbol on it, but Sam was starting to be able to distinguish the transportation glyphs from the ones that would inflict some kind of punishment. He tossed a rompo at a door that he was pretty sure had the former, but the creature just bounced off, giving credence to Kade's implication that only humans could pass through them. "Hang on," he said again, wrapping one hand around Dean's arm and pulling him toward the door, touching the glyph with metaphorical fingers crossed.
Sam felt like he was ground to powder then explosively rehydrated, but he was familiar with the feeling by now. He recovered his balance quite quickly despite getting a Dean elbow to the gut. He was familiar with that feeling too.
"Cool," breathed Dean, sounding just a little winded. Sam looked around. Dean was right; the room was cool.
"You okay?" Sam asked as he inspected the space.
The room was done in dark woods interspersed with deep green panels and the ceiling was hammered copper, reflecting the many hanging, glass-sided lights. There was a billiard table and the biggest, most elaborate dart board Sam had ever seen. A classic, stone-carved chess set sat on a slab table with a polished tree trunk for the base. The chess pieces were huge – eight inches to a foot tall each – and carved with great detail. On a similar table sat a backgammon board that had to be six feet long. There was even a long bar with wooden stools in front of it. A wall of vintage liquor bottles made Sam wince at the thought of the wine bottles that had proved to be such painful weapons in the hands of the poltergeist.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I look like Bruce Banner!"
Sam snickered. The front of Dean's shirt had been absolutely shredded and torn by the rompos until his chest was nearly as bare as Sam's, but he only had a few scratches, so he was probably telling the truth. Sam turned his eyes back to the meticulously-decorated room.
"Uh...Sam?" Dean's voice interrupted Sam's perusal, but it was the way he carefully set down the bag of food he was carrying that really got his attention. The only way Dean would risk being parted from his newly acquired bounty was if he needed his hands free for another fight. Sam followed Dean's gaze upwards, towards the arched ceiling and the heavy beams that crisscrossed it. On one beam there was a row of dark shapes that looked like gigantic vultures.
"Harpies?" Sam whispered, disgusted. He set down his own bag and wished sincerely for a rifle or shotgun or at least a machete instead of just knives, some of which they'd pilfered from the kitchen. There was no special weapon required to kill the ugly, smelly creatures. Decapitation or massive damage to the brain stem or heart would do the trick, but if you didn't burn them afterwards, they still might eventually regenerate. They were tough in their bird form, however, and very difficult to injure. Not to mention they were vicious with their wicked claws and little sharp beaks, and their smell could nearly kill you on its own.
"Yup."
As if Dean's reply had been a signal, all four shapes dropped like rocks straight at them. It wasn't their first time facing the cursed monsters, however, and Sam and Dean easily dodged the initial dive, throwing themselves in opposite directions. Silently, the harpies spun in mid-air and two swooped toward each man, talons outstretched. Sam dodged again, but this time, he swung one of his knives from the side to stab the closest harpy in the side as she rushed past. She spun off, hissing, taking the knife with her. Her companion made a flying turn that seemed impossible and was back in Sam's face before he'd gotten the other knife back into play. He turned to the side and sucked his stomach in and she plowed into the chess set instead of into him.
Sam followed her down, using his weight to make his knife sink to the hilt into her back between her wings. It was a lucky shot – she squawked and went limp. Sam glanced up to see Dean using a pool cue like the harpy in front of him was a piñata. She went down and he broke the cue over his knee and stabbed her with it, but he didn't see another of the creatures swinging around to come at his back. Without thinking about it, Sam grabbed one of the chess pieces (a knight, he noticed) and threw it at the diving harpy. The heavy piece caught her satisfyingly in the face and she blundered into a wall and fell.
Something flew past Sam's ear and he realized that Dean had thrown a pool ball at a harpy behind him. "Watch your own back, Einstein!" Dean yelled, but he actually sounded more proud than annoyed. Sam didn't answer, though he did smile a little.
Then he was back in the fight, because the eight ball had only stunned the furious monster. She sprang up, using her wings for leverage to get off her back and launch herself at Sam's face. He caught her ankles, and they fell together onto their sides, her struggling to get her feet free to claw him, him fighting to keep the wicked talons away from himself. Sam got himself up onto one knee and waited for her to gather herself for another hard shove. This time, he let go with one hand, pushed himself up and out of the way, and used the hand still on her leg to help increase her momentum. When he let go, she went rolling and sliding across the floor and knocked down a handful of stools like bowling pins.
Sam followed quickly, wanting to take the advantage while he had it, but the harpy was very fast. She threw a stool at him, and Sam stumbled as he stepped on something sharp even as he deflected the flying furniture. He fell back halfway onto the bar, but the fall might have saved him, because it was the harpy's shoulder instead of claws that hit him. They rolled along the bar with Sam ending on top with the talons (and, sadly, his hand that held the knife) trapped beneath the screaming harpy.
Seeing he was in reach of the bottles, Sam took a lesson from his time in the kitchen. He grabbed the closest bottle and smashed it. He ignored the way the harpy's free wing slapped at him and her utterly vile smell. (Seriously, it was a toss-up which was worse – up close and personal harpy or burning devil monkey.) He held his breath and sliced at her neck. Once, twice, three times. A blessedly short time later, the harpy's head fell to the floor.
Sam pushed himself to his feet and turned to see Dean pulling his knife out of the chest of the final harpy. Somehow two of the pool table's legs had gotten broken and a big flap of Dean's jeans had been torn off, revealing much of one thigh, but he didn't appear hurt. "They smell as bad as I remember," Dean gagged dramatically.
Speaking of smells...Sam sniffed the air. "Is that…?"
"Yeah." Dean sighed. "She knocked me down by the food and I reacted without thinking and hit her with the stinky cheese." He was practically pouting. He'd been so excited to find his newest beloved food in Callista's fridge.
"I will buy you all the stinky cheese you want once we're out of here," Sam promised. "For right now, we better burn these things."
They used the fireplace for the deed and some vodka as accelerant. If Dean took a sample swig of the expensive brand before dumping the rest, Sam didn't say anything. The bird creatures had barely started burning when there was a scratching at the door, followed by a thump and a familiar rusty-gears growl.
"Great! The rambos found us," Dean complained, using at least his fifth nickname for their pursuers. "Guess we go out the back way."
The next half hour felt like they were in an episode of Scooby Doo (again!) as they ducked in and out of rooms to avoid the rompos. Dean obviously thought so, too, since he kept saying "jinkies" and "zoinks" and occasionally "ruh-roh".
They hid in a cleaning closet, in a steam room, under a bed big enough for an entire family, and inside an empty wardrobe. ("First we went through the looking glass like Alice. Where to next? Narnia?" Dean complained, proving that he knew a lot more literature than people might think.) Twice they deliberately went through Callista's transportation glyphs to escape the unending herd of rompos. The first time, they surprised a rawhead that ultimately ended up locked in a wardrobe almost identical to the one they'd hidden in. The other time, they found themselves in a walk-in cooler with a bunyip that they killed without breaking a sweat.
At last, they were running as quickly and quietly as they could go, having temporarily dodged the chasing pack when they opened a door to find a narrow staircase. "Looks" pant "like a servant's staircase," Sam said. Dean just nodded and they hurried through the door and down. There was a good chance that this was the north staircase that Beaumont's ghost had told them about, and they sure could use a safe room about now.
There was another door at the bottom of the steps, and a similar door, even smaller, built into the side of the stairs. As big as the rest of the house was, the bathroom the second door led to was one of the smallest Sam had ever seen. There was barely room for a pedestal sink, a toilet, and a linen closet.
Dean pumped his fist at the discovery. "Keep watch," he ordered. The room was so small that he had to kneel on the toilet lid to reach into the closet. "There's something back here," he reported, his voice muffled from leaning into the closest. "But if it's some kind of door, I can't open it."
Sam thought back to what Beaumont had said. "Uh...maybe tell it we're Men of Letters?" he suggested hesitantly. He leaned against the wall, scanning his surroundings end to end and hoping the rompos had finally given up.
There was a pause, then Dean begrudgingly said, "We're Men of Letters. Buddies of old Beaumont. Let us in, door." Sam had to bite his tongue to hold in a laugh at Dean talking to a door. Dean paused again, then said, " viri litterarum," which was Latin for Men of Letters. Dean was more than familiar with the dead language and the phrase was written on a few doors in the bunker, but Sam was still impressed.
"Maybe...we need to bleed on it," Sam mused. "They were big on blood proof."
"I was just thinking that," Dean answered. "Gimme a sec."
A hint of movement caught Sam's eye and he turned quickly to his left, eyes widening as he saw a single juvenile rompo, no bigger than a housecat, eyeing him curiously. It was a stupid thing to do, but he held a finger to his lips as if it would understand and refrain from calling its brethren.
The creature trotted over sinuously. At its size and with its inquisitive expression, it looked more like an otter than anything else. It sat at Sam's feet, utterly unafraid. "Go find the rest of your family," he whispered to it.
"It's working," Dean said, sounding far away.
Sam turned to go in the bathroom and the little creature literally leaped into his arms. "No, no, no," he told it, completely unable to kill a pup (kit? cub? romplet?) that showed no aggression. He put it down, but it began to croon sadly. Needing quiet, at least until he got out of plain sight, Sam tucked it under one arm and ducked into the diminutive bathroom, which was empty of Dean. The little creature purred happily.
Ducking even farther, Sam stuck his head into the open linen closet door. He touched one finger to the back panel, wondering exactly where the other "door" was. There was a slight sound of wind, then he was standing somewhere else.
Sam looked around the small, simple room. It looked like a bedroom, with a cot at one end and a small bookshelf on the other. There was also a small table bearing a mirror and a lit candelabra. There were no windows or doors. Dean was standing next to Beaumont's ghost near the table. Both of them looked over at Sam and at the little rompo which had scrambled up to sit on Sam's shoulder and lean against his head, still purring softly.
"Sam," Dean asked dryly. "What the hell is that?"
* * *
AN: Magic Mike is a 2012 movie about male strippers.
The incantation to summon Beaumont is taken right from the transcript of season 2, episode 13, Houses of the Holy on the Supernatural wiki. I couldn't find anything on what was in the bowl for the summoning, so I just kind of left that out. Assume Sam grabbed any ingredients from Callista's bedroom earlier, please.
According to Google translate, Ελευθερωση is Greek for release. Actually, the second epsilon is supposed to have an acute accent, but I couldn't find that particular character. I also got the Latin translation for Men of Letters from Google translate.
Rompos don't have a whole lot of mythology that I could find, but I stuck pretty close to what I did find. They have the head of a hare with human ears, the front legs of a badger, the back legs of a bear, a tail with a bushy end, and a long, slender body. In lore, they eat human corpses, but I'm guessing Callista's were starving, which is why they were so determined to chow on Winchester.
muffinroo: Wine-dipped Sam! What a fabulous turn of phrase. Now he's running around shirtless and shoeless. Poor guy. He didn't really lose clothes in this chapter, though Dean's shirt got shredded. LOL
sylvia37: Me too! And yeah, the piano made me giggle. I loved writing the improvised weapons so much that this chapter had a ton of them...chess pieces, pool balls, etc.
scootersmom: Thank you! I do like to showcase the guys' smarts and badassery.
Timelady66: I haven't found a way to work in a music or keys pun yet, but I'm working on it, because I love it. I'm so so so happy you like the previous chapter because dang, it was fun to write. I've been a very bad friend and haven't read or commented on your story yet. I've been so caught up in writing I have hardly read anything lately – it has nothing to do with you, I promise. I'm very much looking forward to reading it...it's kind of like a treat I'm saving for myself.
Colby's girl: Thank you! It's fun to write!
stedan:I actually intended for them to be apart for longer, but decided that I like it better when they're together. Complete nakedness is unlikely because the story is rated T and not M, but we'll see how close they get...
Jenjoremy: Wet t-shirt contest! I did feed the guys, finally. I mean, if they get healing ointment, food, water, and a few breaks, I can keep them in the house for a looooong time. (evil laughter) Dean digging into a cake with a meat fork made me smile.
sfaulkenberry: You have no idea how happy I am to know that I made you laugh! Gosh, yes, it's a blast to write. I'm probably going overboard with the improvised weapons, but I don't even care at this point. I personally laughed my head off at your comment about Dean getting out of the way of your nice mental picture. Sam's idea wasn't too dangerous (this time). Unfortunately, he didn't lose any clothing this chapter, but there's still time…
Iowa Kat:I'm so glad to hear that! So, Dean girl, I listened and took away most of his shirt and a big piece out of his jeans. *grin* I can't have you incensed, after all. I also had the tying potholders to Sam's feet mentioned but just figured it would be too hard to run. (It would be hilarious to see though!) I have a confession for you, though. I haven't seen The Neverending Story. I have no idea why. I feel like my brother loved it, but why I wouldn't have seen it I don't know. I take it there's a character similar to Kade? I may have to research that a bit to get ideas.
Kathy: To be fair, I wouldn't like rappelling either! Of course, I would be physically incapable of it too, so there's that. Yeah, I gave each of the guys something to fight, but I didn't keep them apart too long. If you like strange ways of disposing of monsters, I feel like this is a good chapter for you. Heh. I stuck them in a game room and just started writing, figuring out weird weapon ideas as I went.
Chiiva: Thank you! This story is pretty light-hearted, but sometimes those more serious things slip in. Bur for the most part, it's just been a very self-indulgent exercise.
Shazza: Aw, thank you!
bagelcat1: I admit to giggling like an idiot while writing some of these scenes! I (almost literally) threw pretty much every kitchen item I could think at poor Sam. And I did feed them now. I need to keepthem going for while because I'm having too much fun for them to defeat Callista just yet. It makes me happy but not surprised that you recognized that the statues were the Muses. For whatever reason, I was thinking about the pillars on the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry that are carved to look like women. (Carytids, my research says they're called, which I maybe should have known.) Anyway, as you already know, I too love the guys showing off their smarts...and weird things like death by piano.
MicheleChadwick: I got an Alice reference in just for you! I adore that you said you rarely regret asking questions. I am a constant questioner, so I felt that. My family says that I want to know "all of the things" and it's kind of true.I cannot get PM's, probably because of my technological ineptitude, but feel free to email me any prompts at imawoomie at yahoo. I've wondered similar things about salt myself. Like, if the people in the episode Dead in the Water had a water softener that used salt, would the ghost still have been able to travel into the tub and stuff? And I too love learning about symbols and mythologies, etc., etc. Sometimes I'll find something by accident and it will inspire and entire story, though full disclosure – I usually adapt or add to what's out there. I never thought about a piano wire garrote for some reason, though you're absolutely right about it being a mobster favorite. I wonder how hard it would be to cut some wire out of a piano? I feel like it would recoil back really fast and be dangerous even if you could cut it. Of course, if the piano's all busted, the wires much not be under as much tension...hmmm. Also, Crowley would be an amazing addition to any story. I've been thinking for a while that I need to write something with him in it, and more than just in passing, but I have nothing specific in mind or anything. I just love his character so much! His death was one of the saddest for me just because of that. Thanks for the info on the teardrop shapes and wardings and stuff – fascinating stuff. And thank you for very kind comments.