Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lovemesomepie) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisa2013-10-09 12:09 am
lovemesomepie) wrote in paradisa2013-10-09 12:09 am
Entry tags:
1st Hunt ✖ Action/Dictated
[He wakes up to darkness.
Something in him registers the chill in the air, the crinkle of dead leaves tangled in his hair, trapped under his body.
His heart beats a-one, a-two, and then blood roars in his ears and he springs to his feet, all senses on red-alert as he reaches for a knife that isn't there. His knife's not there - shit, fuck, damn - and where the hell is he, anyway? Where's Sam? Where's Cas?
The closed journal half-buried in leaves next to him doesn't get noticed, at least not right away. His pulse that had been so calm mere moments before is now hammering at a jackrabbit's pace. They'd done it. Killed the big bad, saved the day - so why wasn't he back in Roman's lab? What, exactly, had gone wrong, and how was he gonna get home? And where the hell had his weapons gone?
Hyperaware of the weights he always carries on him, their absence is all too obvious. The gun tucked into the back of his pants, the blades in his boots and his sleeves - even the knife that had been in his hand, all gone.
Whatever trick Dick Roman played on them, Dean doesn't want to stick around to find out. Experience tells him that he's the punchline. Better to get out of here - wherever here is. The trees are thick around him, leaves gold, red, and brown at his feet. When he looks up he can see pale silver fingers of moonlight.
The prickle at the back of his neck cautions him to stay silent, but the urge to find his brother trumps that.]
Sam? [He waits a beat. No response.] Sam! [It doesn't take a genius to figure out that wherever Sam is, it's not somewhere nearby.
But he knows there's someone who can hear him no matter how far apart they are from each other. Dean clenches his eyes closed to pray. His words aren't snarky or tinged with ironic comments like Dean's prayers usually are, instead grimly sincere; the prayer of a desperate man.]
I dunno where you are, Cas, or where Sam is, but I need you, buddy.
[Again he waits. Eventually he cracks one eye open - there was no rustle of feathers - of wings. He looks around again, stunned. Cas didn't answer.
Something is very, very wrong.
Dean presses through the trees - it doesn't take very long until he reaches the fringe of the woods he was in. If he wasn't surprised before - well, now he's floored. Ahead of him, within maybe ten minutes' walking distance, is a giant castle.]
Not in Kansas anymore...
[He's out of options - suspicious as he is, seems like the castle is his only option for the moment. He shoves his hands into his pockets, not sure if he wants to risk it - he could always lay low out here; not very comfortable, but he's had worse.
And that's when his hand makes contact with the journal, which sure as hell wasn't in his pocket before. He's never even seen anything like this. It's clearly for him, though - it's got his name on the front.
He takes the chance to flip through it, accidentally smearing a bit of black Leviathan blood across the page when he turns it.
It doesn't take long for him to snap the journal closed.]
No way. No freakin' way.
[That just further turns him off to the idea of staying in the Castle. But Dean rarely takes his own discomfort into account, and it doesn't take long for him to reach the doors to the Lobby.]
---
[A little later, Dean's had time to discover the journal and take some time to really flip through it. He's settled in the Lobby, having checked the nearest entrances and exits: back outside or up staircases he's not sure he wants to go up yet. Not without a plan, at least. He still doesn't like what he's read. This castle seems more like a witch he'd hunt than anything, or the work of some douchebag angel.]
Look. I did my research, got the memo. Sentient castle, grants wishes, raises hell. Regular little carnival of fun you got goin' here.
But I'm not starrin' in another Shack in the Forest. Alright? [Snort.] I've got enough crap on my plate already.
Now. I know there's a bunch of ya. We can worry about how many later. But one of you musta seen my brother, Sam - ten feet tall, needs a haircut? Or my friend Cas. Castiel. Tax accountant in a trench coat, stares into your soul? If either of you are out there, you got some serious explainin' to do.
In the meantime, where can a guy get a little Jimmy Buffet around here? Far cry from paradise, but I could do with a beer and a burger.
((On his way into the Castle, in the Lobby, or simply over the journal - just specify.))
Something in him registers the chill in the air, the crinkle of dead leaves tangled in his hair, trapped under his body.
His heart beats a-one, a-two, and then blood roars in his ears and he springs to his feet, all senses on red-alert as he reaches for a knife that isn't there. His knife's not there - shit, fuck, damn - and where the hell is he, anyway? Where's Sam? Where's Cas?
The closed journal half-buried in leaves next to him doesn't get noticed, at least not right away. His pulse that had been so calm mere moments before is now hammering at a jackrabbit's pace. They'd done it. Killed the big bad, saved the day - so why wasn't he back in Roman's lab? What, exactly, had gone wrong, and how was he gonna get home? And where the hell had his weapons gone?
Hyperaware of the weights he always carries on him, their absence is all too obvious. The gun tucked into the back of his pants, the blades in his boots and his sleeves - even the knife that had been in his hand, all gone.
Whatever trick Dick Roman played on them, Dean doesn't want to stick around to find out. Experience tells him that he's the punchline. Better to get out of here - wherever here is. The trees are thick around him, leaves gold, red, and brown at his feet. When he looks up he can see pale silver fingers of moonlight.
The prickle at the back of his neck cautions him to stay silent, but the urge to find his brother trumps that.]
Sam? [He waits a beat. No response.] Sam! [It doesn't take a genius to figure out that wherever Sam is, it's not somewhere nearby.
But he knows there's someone who can hear him no matter how far apart they are from each other. Dean clenches his eyes closed to pray. His words aren't snarky or tinged with ironic comments like Dean's prayers usually are, instead grimly sincere; the prayer of a desperate man.]
I dunno where you are, Cas, or where Sam is, but I need you, buddy.
[Again he waits. Eventually he cracks one eye open - there was no rustle of feathers - of wings. He looks around again, stunned. Cas didn't answer.
Something is very, very wrong.
Dean presses through the trees - it doesn't take very long until he reaches the fringe of the woods he was in. If he wasn't surprised before - well, now he's floored. Ahead of him, within maybe ten minutes' walking distance, is a giant castle.]
Not in Kansas anymore...
[He's out of options - suspicious as he is, seems like the castle is his only option for the moment. He shoves his hands into his pockets, not sure if he wants to risk it - he could always lay low out here; not very comfortable, but he's had worse.
And that's when his hand makes contact with the journal, which sure as hell wasn't in his pocket before. He's never even seen anything like this. It's clearly for him, though - it's got his name on the front.
He takes the chance to flip through it, accidentally smearing a bit of black Leviathan blood across the page when he turns it.
It doesn't take long for him to snap the journal closed.]
No way. No freakin' way.
[That just further turns him off to the idea of staying in the Castle. But Dean rarely takes his own discomfort into account, and it doesn't take long for him to reach the doors to the Lobby.]
---
[A little later, Dean's had time to discover the journal and take some time to really flip through it. He's settled in the Lobby, having checked the nearest entrances and exits: back outside or up staircases he's not sure he wants to go up yet. Not without a plan, at least. He still doesn't like what he's read. This castle seems more like a witch he'd hunt than anything, or the work of some douchebag angel.]
Look. I did my research, got the memo. Sentient castle, grants wishes, raises hell. Regular little carnival of fun you got goin' here.
But I'm not starrin' in another Shack in the Forest. Alright? [Snort.] I've got enough crap on my plate already.
Now. I know there's a bunch of ya. We can worry about how many later. But one of you musta seen my brother, Sam - ten feet tall, needs a haircut? Or my friend Cas. Castiel. Tax accountant in a trench coat, stares into your soul? If either of you are out there, you got some serious explainin' to do.
In the meantime, where can a guy get a little Jimmy Buffet around here? Far cry from paradise, but I could do with a beer and a burger.
((On his way into the Castle, in the Lobby, or simply over the journal - just specify.))
Dictated
[There's a beat as he processes what Vanyel just said.] Oh, c'mon, you musta heard somethin' by him - Cheeseburger in Paradise, Margaritaville?
Re: Dictated
Well, the man did have glass cuts, and I have a Healing Gift. It was in his best interest to let me work on him while he was there. And he needed to sit down besides.
No, I am afraid not. I have never heard of this "Maragaritaville". It sounds a bit small though if it has "ville" in its name though.
Dictated
Is that supposed to be funny? It's not a real place, it's a song.
Re: Dictated
He fell through something, that was for sure. He was not seriously injured though, as I said. I imagine what small wounds he had are fully recovered now.
So it is a song about a place called Margaritaville?
Dictated
It's a metaphor. A place without worries, you know, Hakuna Matata?
[He rubs his temples. How did it come to this..?]
Re: Dictated
What is Hakuna Matata? I have never heard that language before. It does not sound like Karsite, though I doubt you would know that language anyways.
[ Karsite tended to resemble Earth German. Also, sorry Dean. Medieval world and all that. He'd sing you a nice pub shanty, if he could sing. The Castle is a cruel beast. ]
You speak of many strange places and words, my friend.
Dictated
I'm beginnin' to get that. Apparently you don't actually live under a rock.
Re: Dictated
A language of a neighboring country to my own Valdemar. I would speak it, but I am not sure if it would actually come through or just be immediately translated for you...
And no, I do not like under a rock - I am just not from your world.
Dictated
Just how many worlds are there?
Re: Dictated
Given the number of people here now and that have been here in the past... I would say a near endless amount.
The Castle's reach is quite far it seems.
Dictated
Anyone found a rhyme or reason behind who it takes n' from where?
Re: Dictated
Not that anyone has come to readily understand, no. One theory is as good as the next, I am afraid. And while we can be brought here, no one has found the way out without the Castle sending them home.
Dictated
The more I learn, the less I like it here.
Re: Dictated
It has its charms. As... terrible as some of the things it has done, I cannot say I would readily leave just yet either.
[ Not with his lost love here. It is a second chance, one he shall cherish for as long as it lasts and he hopes it lasts quite awhile. ]
Dictated
Re: Dictated
More like a boy, and I get a chance at something that was taken from me to early.
[ He and Tylendel had shared a scant summer together, a few months out of a life time. And then Tylendel had leapt from a tower, his soul broken by grief in a way Vanyel had not the experience to see the dangers of or repair. To have him here again... he would remain here as long as he could, to add a few more months, even years, to their time together, his heart at least whole again. ]
Even if I might not remember when I return home, I will remember while I am here. And that is all that matters.
Dictated
Guess I can't begrudge you that. Tryin' not to take the blue pill, but I don't think there's a red one.
[He's quiet for a little while, just thinking. He's still been toying with the thought that this place is some strange dream, some Djinn's construction, even though he knows in his gut that it's not. He's also trying to convince himself that whatever happens here doesn't matter - but residents are convincing him of the contrary. He's got a lot to wrestle with.]
Good luck with him.
Re: Dictated
Luck enough has already been granted with him being here.
[ He did not get the pill reference, but he figured he could find out at some other time. It seemed the sort of question to leave for a later date. ]
I know it's hard, being here, realizing what it means.