"Then the angel took the censer, filled it with fire from the altar, and hurled it on the earth; and there came peals of thunder, rumblings, flashes of lightning and an earthquake."
— Book of Revelation 8:5
It looked like one of those suspenseful standoffs from Westerns. Only the man — Carver Endlund — was still on the phone ordering hookers and Marlene...well, she didn't have a gun. Or much of anything. With that in mind, she eyed a hanger on the couch and made a grab for it. Marley pointed the "weapon" at the strange man in what was supposed to be a threatening manner. He hung up the phone.
"H-heey," Edlund drawled in a shaky voice, hands raised in surrender. He's not particularly scared of the hanger but rather of what the girl could do to him with it.
"Who the hell are you?"
"This is my house," he told her. Suddenly, his eyes went wide, "Are you an angel?"
Marlene wanted to burst out laughing. "No," she answered, insulted by the assumption. And then asked, suddenly suspicious, "Are you?"
"No. I'm a writer."
Marley looked around at the whole mess, "Yeah, I can tell." She had to hope that Castiel hadn't dropped her off in the middle of nowhere, at some sexually depraved stranger's house. Was he one of the hunters? A friend of Dean's?
"Why are you here? Who are you?" "Carver Edlund" sounded extremely panicked, "Are you a fan? Listen, this is not okay, I'm going to call the police —"
"No!" she instantly screamed, startling the poor guy, "No police, please." Marley put the hanger neatly on the couch and extended her hand, "I'm...Marlene. A linguist."
Hesitantly, "Carver Edlund" reached out his right hand to shake it. Marlene eyed it suspiciously, then looked up at the guy, remembering his conversation on the phone. They had a mutual understanding. He cleared his throat and withdrew the hand in humiliation. Marlene pursed her lips — it was...awkward.
But then "Carver Edlund" looked like he'd been struck by a lighting. His eyes went comically wide, "Wait, did you say you're a linguist?"
Marley's brow furrowed, "Yes?" she replied slowly.
"Marlene Ter-Gabrielyan? Yale graduate? Left your old life behind after your friend's death and never looked back?"
She felt a sudden urge to take hold of that hanger again. But the guy looked harmless. Maybe a little on crack, jittery, but pretty tame. "How...how do know all this?"
