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entrancelogs2016-02-20 08:18 pm
lovestheimpala) wrote in entrancelogs2016-02-20 08:18 pm
come on, baby
Who: Dean Winchester ( & whoever wants a slice of this pie)
Where: Outside. Hallways. Bar.
When: Feb. 20th
Rating: PG13 at least.
Summary: Dean discovers a different dimension.
The Story:
i. outside
It’s less than a blink of an eye. A split second where he’s not fully paying attention to life around him. That’s all it takes for it to vanish and leave him standing alone. He blinks. Once. Twice. Just to make sure that his brain isn’t flipping out on him.Again.
He’s pretty sure he’s not hallucinating, though. The handle of the Scythe still in his hands feels too solid. His grip tightens around it until splinters dig into his palms. No, this is definitely real.
For a second, he wonders if this is Death’s deal- But no. No, that doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t add up. He wasn’t gonna kill Sam. He wouldn’t have been strong enough to do that and even if he had… why would Death send him packing with his Scythe? If this was his doing, Dean was pretty freaking sure he’d want his toy back first. So this had to be something different. Something that derailed them and snagged either just him, or all three of them, and dumped them somewhere else.
Where though? Only one way to find out.
With the Scythe lifted high, Dean sets out to figure out where he is, and if he was the only one that Stargated out of that restaurant.
ii. hallways
“What the hell….?”
It’s not so much the actual grandeur of the place that has him just barely gaping when he first walks into the mansion, but rather that he can’t wrap his brain around why he would end up here. It can’t be a good thing. Last time he got zapped into a place that was all gold and art, and fancy like this… it was the angelic dicks wanting him to sit pretty until Michael wanted him to bend over. This place doesn’t quite reek of their arrogance, but the unsettling feeling that something pulled him out of his life to screw him over can’t be shaken.
So he walks around as quietly as he can, hoping that he can get a better feel of the place before he runs into anyone. He’s damn good at stealth when he needs to be, but it’s not always easy to sneak in shadows and stay hidden when you’re carrying around a weapon the size of a small human.
iii. bar
He’s tired. That’s an understatement.
It had been a shitty-as-all-hell week even before he got beamed up. So much crap dumped on him all in such a few days (some of it even by his own hands) and Dean hadn’t had a moment to stop and let it sink in. And this BS happened. Desperate to get a moment to let all of this… Dean needs a drink. Simple as that, and he dumps the scythe into one of the empty rooms so he isn’t walking around looking like he’s here to freaking reap people. From that it’s a bee line to the bar. Thank God this place has a bar.
He walks in with his head down, not stopping until he can park his ass on one of the stools. He needs there to be no more than just the bottom of his glass tonight. “Gimme a shot. And a beer.”
Where: Outside. Hallways. Bar.
When: Feb. 20th
Rating: PG13 at least.
Summary: Dean discovers a different dimension.
The Story:
i. outside
It’s less than a blink of an eye. A split second where he’s not fully paying attention to life around him. That’s all it takes for it to vanish and leave him standing alone. He blinks. Once. Twice. Just to make sure that his brain isn’t flipping out on him.
He’s pretty sure he’s not hallucinating, though. The handle of the Scythe still in his hands feels too solid. His grip tightens around it until splinters dig into his palms. No, this is definitely real.
For a second, he wonders if this is Death’s deal- But no. No, that doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t add up. He wasn’t gonna kill Sam. He wouldn’t have been strong enough to do that and even if he had… why would Death send him packing with his Scythe? If this was his doing, Dean was pretty freaking sure he’d want his toy back first. So this had to be something different. Something that derailed them and snagged either just him, or all three of them, and dumped them somewhere else.
Where though? Only one way to find out.
With the Scythe lifted high, Dean sets out to figure out where he is, and if he was the only one that Stargated out of that restaurant.
ii. hallways
“What the hell….?”
It’s not so much the actual grandeur of the place that has him just barely gaping when he first walks into the mansion, but rather that he can’t wrap his brain around why he would end up here. It can’t be a good thing. Last time he got zapped into a place that was all gold and art, and fancy like this… it was the angelic dicks wanting him to sit pretty until Michael wanted him to bend over. This place doesn’t quite reek of their arrogance, but the unsettling feeling that something pulled him out of his life to screw him over can’t be shaken.
So he walks around as quietly as he can, hoping that he can get a better feel of the place before he runs into anyone. He’s damn good at stealth when he needs to be, but it’s not always easy to sneak in shadows and stay hidden when you’re carrying around a weapon the size of a small human.
iii. bar
He’s tired. That’s an understatement.
It had been a shitty-as-all-hell week even before he got beamed up. So much crap dumped on him all in such a few days (some of it even by his own hands) and Dean hadn’t had a moment to stop and let it sink in. And this BS happened. Desperate to get a moment to let all of this… Dean needs a drink. Simple as that, and he dumps the scythe into one of the empty rooms so he isn’t walking around looking like he’s here to freaking reap people. From that it’s a bee line to the bar. Thank God this place has a bar.
He walks in with his head down, not stopping until he can park his ass on one of the stools. He needs there to be no more than just the bottom of his glass tonight. “Gimme a shot. And a beer.”
iii.
On second thought, maybe he's been spending too much time here, because when Stubble McGrowsalot here waltzes in and orders something, Alex takes a moment to pause, contemplate, and looks carefully behind each shoulder to ensure he isn't addressing anyone else.
Nope. Lucky him. Is there something about him that just screams customer service, or something? He snorts and goes back to nursing his own drink. "I'm not your freakin' bartender, dude. Get your own."
no subject
But his response is a shrug and a smirk. "That not how it works here? Was is this? A self-service bar?"
no subject
"Welcome to Wonderland, pal," he says, and drains whatever pungent alcoholic mixture is in his glass. "It's tough for everyone, okay?"
no subject
He grabs himself a bottle and a shot glass, and comes back to Snarky to see what he can learn from him about this place.
"Take it you got snagged out of your cradle, too?"
no subject
He's bullshitting, of course, but raising people's hackles happens to a talent of his. He leans against the counter with an exaggerated casual air. Never mind that this guy is clearly older than a college film student in his twenties, Alex is going to lord over him with his "I know what's up with this place and you totally don't" status for as long as he can.
no subject
He doesn't even know who he really is right now.
But everyone else seems to think
they do.
Dean's already on shot number two, and he holds up the bottle, silently asking if the kid wants one too. He's not too troubled by the whole alpha male play. If anything, there's an internal eye roll at it. He's too old for games like that. "If you're such a veteran, why don't you fill in the new guy?"
no subject
Then again, apparently so was Alex, not that he can remember.
He slides his glass over the table with a dull scrape of glass over wood. Fill 'er up, Dean.
"Apparently people can come and go." He makes a vague wiggly hand gesture. "A couple people recognized me at first, even if I knew jack about them."
no subject
"So people come and go at random, and if you've been here before you can't remember?" That's gonna be problem, isn't it? What the fuck do people know about him?
"How do you get out?"
no subject
He inclines his head faintly. "The million dollar question. Tell you what, you figure it out, you can let the rest of us know." His expression twists, annoyed. "This place doesn't like it when its people skedaddle without its permission."
no subject
Dean watches him intently. He's not entirely sure why. There's something crackling off of him that seem... Yeah, he's not sure at all, but there's a familiar feel about the energy around him.
"What does it do exactly, when someone tries to leave?" That's a more pressing question than why he can almost taste murder in the air. That part could just be his own head fucking with him.
no subject
"More like - you just can't." Alex opens a hand. "Try going too far out from the mansion and you just end up wandering. Maybe dying."
He drains half his glass and pulls a face as it sears a fiery alcoholic trail down his throat. "We got a limit on deaths, by the by. The by. Don't know if you've heard."
no subject
He stops in the middle of pouring himself yet another drink and looks up so he can blink at the guy.
"What- What does that mean 'a limit on deaths'? Who's deaths?"
no subject
He smirks mirthlessly, leans back in his seat.
"We get these little happenings every now and again. Sometimes it's a party with free food. Sometimes it's a monster in the woods. We just never know."
no subject
He's curious, though, and leans forward. "You ever know of anyone who's died a sixth time?"
no subject
Sixth death, though. He hasn't talked to anyone who's admitted to getting gutted that many times, though he can't deny that he's equally curious about it.
"Maybe. If I do, they haven't told me." He drums his fingers on the surface of the counter. "You could always try asking around, though. People here might recognize you, trust you at the outset."
no subject
But all this makes him wonder. Is this the kind of hellhole like Purgatory where you get dumped if you're maybe-kinda-sorta evil? Is this some kind of punishment?
"You wouldn't happen to be one of them, would you?" That's a fair question. Never know. Some would argue Dean falls in that category.
no subject
Not that he remembers, anyway. He was here once before too, and it's kind of unsettling to be reminded of that here and again.
no subject
"So. What's the deal with that face?"
no subject
"This place drives you up the freakin' wall, dude. That's all I'm saying." He leans back in his seat, stretches.
no subject
That's years of experience talking. He knows that look, he's seen it so- Dammit. He is turning into Bobby.
no subject
"Yeah, I'm thinking of kicking some puppies after this. Running with scissors, burning down an orphanage."
He's gonna be taking care of a friend, that's all. "What's your point?"
no subject
That could go both ways, though.
no subject
What is this guy, a bloodhound? He looks like something of a bro, a little bit, which already inclines Alex to not really care if he's being all prematurely suspicious.
But he doesn't say any of that. Instead he raises a hand in a careless wave as he heads for the exit. "Toodles."