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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.”
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."