08-24-2015, 11:54 PM
The sun-parched sands shifted lazily, the wind too lethargic to whip up more than a breeze. The creatures of the desert crept and crawled, keeping to she shadows of their hides, under the rocks and within the desiccated trees. The rare splotches of green cacti wavered as you looked through the heat-bent light, the haze of calidity twisting everything it touched.
Far in the distance, twin spires of dust rode into the sky. The blare of wandering guitar pierced the scorching silence even before the roar of the engine or the thundering of hooves.
The had driven for hours, following the trail of a woman who’s footprints had long-since been blown away. They only had the whispered rumors of the wandering denizens of the barrens to go on, traversing on the well-travelled paths that crisscrossed the dunes and mesas. The red-skinned deputy wasn’t as familiar with the Endless Dunes as he had made it seem, but his understanding of tracking and trailblazing made up for his ignorance of local geography.
Dean’s experience in hunting down his target regardless of the location was perhaps more of a help to the cause than Sinestro was willing to admit. It seemed as though the hunter had a sixth sense about his quarry, an intuition that drove him through luck and logic to the creature he so desperately wanted to introduce to his blade. The ex-lantern couldn’t be sure if it was magic or skill; in either case he made note of the man’s aptitude.
The man’s shoulder wound had sealed up mere minutes after he had been shot, and though the only weapon he carried was a blade, it seemed like he could use it. Seemingly giving up his humanity had only strengthened the human; wherever he was from, demons were strong.
For all of his previous posting and bluster, Sinestro knew which of them would likely win in a direct confrontation. Fear and the illusion of strength would be his only allies, as they had been for his entire stay in the Omniverse.
The car and camel blasted past the cacti, paradoxically keeping pace with each other as they left the splash of verdant life behind them. Dean leaned out his window, offered the deputy a smirk, and yelled over the wind, “Hey, shouldn’t you be getting hungry right about now? Been about six hours since we last stopped.”
The korugaran’s sun-beaten brow was flowing with sweat, his chin was covered in stubble, and thick bags hung under his eyes. Refusing to admit his own exhaustion, Sinestro shifted in his saddle and considered his heavily taxed mount. Patting the beast on the neck, he nodded to the demon, “I think the camel could use a rest.”
The smile grew to a grin and Dean laughed, “Sure.”
Slowing down, the two pulled from the hard-packed trail beside a twisted, dry tree. Its back was bent back and forth, its exposed roots a tangled rat’s nest of confused growth. The plant had struggled to stay alive as long as it had, but in the end the elements had been too much for it.
Dismounting, Sinestro quickly moved to the thin strand of shade the dead plant offered, pulling his panting camel behind him. He was thankful for the animal’s resilience almost as much as he was for its unnatural speed. Removing his hat, Sinestro fanned his face and claimed another canteen from the saddlebags, unscrewing it and dumping it over his head. He let out a long sigh as the water soaked into the thick fabric of his clothing, cooling his skin underneath.
“It’s a hot one, huh?” Dean said, wearing a sinister smile.
Squinting balefully, the deputy nodded. “It is. You don’t seem to notice much, though. Is that vehicle temperature controlled?”
“Yeah, she’s got A/C, but I think it’s more got to do with the whole ‘demon’ thing. This sand-box has got nothin’ on the flame of hell.” Leaning on the frame of the car, he nervously rubbed the scratches and dings in the paneling, one hand always wandering towards the blade before he caught it and pulled it back. “Still use the A/C though.”
“Mm, how fortunate for you,” the deputy laughed to himself, guzzling down the remainder of his water. Pushing the canteen back down into the saddlebag, he retrieved another and offered it up to Dean. “Are you thirsty? And I don’t mean your car.”
Dean shook his head, “Nah, I’m alright, unless that thing is filled with booze.”
Sinestro’s brows crinkled, “And I suppose as a demon you don’t have to drink either.” He took another small drink of his water as he rested in the shade.
“Not unless I want to,” he confirmed, holding his pale hand out in front of his face. “And it turns out I’m a strong enough demon that I can even put my body back together. Normally stuff like not eating, sleeping, and getting all shot up would break down this handsome, original, skin-suit I’m wearing. It wouldn’t kill me, or keep this flesh-bag from walking, talking and kicking ass, but it would start to look gross after a while.”
“Hm, interesting,” the deputy hummed, eyeballing his ally. “So is that not actually your body, it is just a host for you?”
“Heh, well, interesting thing,” Dean mused, kicking himself up straight from leaning, “this is my body. I was once a human but my soul got converted into a demon while I was still alive, so I was still inside my… self. It’s a pretty unique situation. Usually you gotta die and get sent to Hell, and have your soul tortured for a few thousand years before you get ‘promoted’ to being a demon, and by then your old body is dust in the wind.”
Sinestro looked amused, “My, that does sound unique. All this talk of souls and spirits, too! Your old reality seems very interesting. I honestly haven’t taken much time to learn about the other worlds that people are drawn from.”
“Yeah, well that’s coming from a guy that was literally drawn where I’m from.” Dean put his hands out and gesticulated as he spoke, “You’re a fictional character, man! You’re like, a super-villain or something in these comic books. You were in a really shitty movie with too much CGI. It’s really weird seeing you in the flesh, man.”
The ex-lantern crossed his arms and tilted his head down, obscuring himself with the brim of his hat. “The way you say that would imply that yours is the ‘truer’ reality of origin, as if mine was fake and yours was true.”
Dean shrugged, his expression almost tauntingly casual, “I saw my little brother flipping through issues of a paperback he bought at a dime store where some freak in a green unitard was shooting laser beams at you. Pardon me if I’m a bit skeptical of that situation panning out to be real.”
“I can’t say that I haven’t seen stranger creatures than you where I am from, but I would postulate that there are ‘plainer’ realities that would find your very existence as preposterous as my own.” He shrugged and pushed his hat up enough to see one hazel eye glaring from beneath it, “Maybe there’s a comic about you in out there.”
“I deserve a TV show,” he chuckled, “trust me.” Turning, he cracked the door and reached into the door pocket, pulling free a small package with bold, colorful lettering across its face. “At least ten seasons. Maybe eleven.” Tearing open the seal, he took a large bite of the crumbling, half-crushed and sugar-coated pastry.
The korugaran offered the man a small laugh, relaxing himself somewhat. “I can’t say I ever had much time to indulge in the finer points of Earth’s media, but I think I understand well enough.” He pointed to the pre-packaged meal the demon was devouring, “I suppose you don’t have to eat either? Why are you choosing to now, of all times?”
“Because it’s pie,” Dean retorted with a spray of crumbs and doubtless confidence. “I always get these things at gas stations. Sammy is always bugging me about the preservatives or whatever, but I guess I don’t gotta worry about that crap now. I mean, it’s not like I did before, but even more so now that I’m all demoned up.” He hungrily took another large bite, chunks of syrupy filling clinging to his cheek.
“And who is Sammy? Did they come through with you?” the deputy asked calmly.
Dean paused for a moment, suddenly catching up with his own words. He swallowed his current bite, and crumpled up the rest of the pie in its wrapper, tossing it aside. “Nobody,” he said moodily, his eyes drifting to the ground.
Sighing, Sinestro opened his mouth, but a glimmer on a far-off mesa caught his eye. Turning, he saw a narrow line of smoke trickling from the top of the flat-topped mountain. Quickly stuffing his canteen back into the saddlebag, he leapt onto the camel’s back. He pointed with a long, thin finger and shouted, “Let’s try to head them off before the get too far!”
Dean flung himself over the hood and threw open the door. The Impala’s engine bellowed and cast out a few coughs of exhaust as he revved the engine before the wheels spun wildly and the two were off once again. Sand slowly gusted over the half-buried wrapper, its bold, bright letters never to be seen again.
Far in the distance, twin spires of dust rode into the sky. The blare of wandering guitar pierced the scorching silence even before the roar of the engine or the thundering of hooves.
The had driven for hours, following the trail of a woman who’s footprints had long-since been blown away. They only had the whispered rumors of the wandering denizens of the barrens to go on, traversing on the well-travelled paths that crisscrossed the dunes and mesas. The red-skinned deputy wasn’t as familiar with the Endless Dunes as he had made it seem, but his understanding of tracking and trailblazing made up for his ignorance of local geography.
Dean’s experience in hunting down his target regardless of the location was perhaps more of a help to the cause than Sinestro was willing to admit. It seemed as though the hunter had a sixth sense about his quarry, an intuition that drove him through luck and logic to the creature he so desperately wanted to introduce to his blade. The ex-lantern couldn’t be sure if it was magic or skill; in either case he made note of the man’s aptitude.
The man’s shoulder wound had sealed up mere minutes after he had been shot, and though the only weapon he carried was a blade, it seemed like he could use it. Seemingly giving up his humanity had only strengthened the human; wherever he was from, demons were strong.
For all of his previous posting and bluster, Sinestro knew which of them would likely win in a direct confrontation. Fear and the illusion of strength would be his only allies, as they had been for his entire stay in the Omniverse.
The car and camel blasted past the cacti, paradoxically keeping pace with each other as they left the splash of verdant life behind them. Dean leaned out his window, offered the deputy a smirk, and yelled over the wind, “Hey, shouldn’t you be getting hungry right about now? Been about six hours since we last stopped.”
The korugaran’s sun-beaten brow was flowing with sweat, his chin was covered in stubble, and thick bags hung under his eyes. Refusing to admit his own exhaustion, Sinestro shifted in his saddle and considered his heavily taxed mount. Patting the beast on the neck, he nodded to the demon, “I think the camel could use a rest.”
The smile grew to a grin and Dean laughed, “Sure.”
Slowing down, the two pulled from the hard-packed trail beside a twisted, dry tree. Its back was bent back and forth, its exposed roots a tangled rat’s nest of confused growth. The plant had struggled to stay alive as long as it had, but in the end the elements had been too much for it.
Dismounting, Sinestro quickly moved to the thin strand of shade the dead plant offered, pulling his panting camel behind him. He was thankful for the animal’s resilience almost as much as he was for its unnatural speed. Removing his hat, Sinestro fanned his face and claimed another canteen from the saddlebags, unscrewing it and dumping it over his head. He let out a long sigh as the water soaked into the thick fabric of his clothing, cooling his skin underneath.
“It’s a hot one, huh?” Dean said, wearing a sinister smile.
Squinting balefully, the deputy nodded. “It is. You don’t seem to notice much, though. Is that vehicle temperature controlled?”
“Yeah, she’s got A/C, but I think it’s more got to do with the whole ‘demon’ thing. This sand-box has got nothin’ on the flame of hell.” Leaning on the frame of the car, he nervously rubbed the scratches and dings in the paneling, one hand always wandering towards the blade before he caught it and pulled it back. “Still use the A/C though.”
“Mm, how fortunate for you,” the deputy laughed to himself, guzzling down the remainder of his water. Pushing the canteen back down into the saddlebag, he retrieved another and offered it up to Dean. “Are you thirsty? And I don’t mean your car.”
Dean shook his head, “Nah, I’m alright, unless that thing is filled with booze.”
Sinestro’s brows crinkled, “And I suppose as a demon you don’t have to drink either.” He took another small drink of his water as he rested in the shade.
“Not unless I want to,” he confirmed, holding his pale hand out in front of his face. “And it turns out I’m a strong enough demon that I can even put my body back together. Normally stuff like not eating, sleeping, and getting all shot up would break down this handsome, original, skin-suit I’m wearing. It wouldn’t kill me, or keep this flesh-bag from walking, talking and kicking ass, but it would start to look gross after a while.”
“Hm, interesting,” the deputy hummed, eyeballing his ally. “So is that not actually your body, it is just a host for you?”
“Heh, well, interesting thing,” Dean mused, kicking himself up straight from leaning, “this is my body. I was once a human but my soul got converted into a demon while I was still alive, so I was still inside my… self. It’s a pretty unique situation. Usually you gotta die and get sent to Hell, and have your soul tortured for a few thousand years before you get ‘promoted’ to being a demon, and by then your old body is dust in the wind.”
Sinestro looked amused, “My, that does sound unique. All this talk of souls and spirits, too! Your old reality seems very interesting. I honestly haven’t taken much time to learn about the other worlds that people are drawn from.”
“Yeah, well that’s coming from a guy that was literally drawn where I’m from.” Dean put his hands out and gesticulated as he spoke, “You’re a fictional character, man! You’re like, a super-villain or something in these comic books. You were in a really shitty movie with too much CGI. It’s really weird seeing you in the flesh, man.”
The ex-lantern crossed his arms and tilted his head down, obscuring himself with the brim of his hat. “The way you say that would imply that yours is the ‘truer’ reality of origin, as if mine was fake and yours was true.”
Dean shrugged, his expression almost tauntingly casual, “I saw my little brother flipping through issues of a paperback he bought at a dime store where some freak in a green unitard was shooting laser beams at you. Pardon me if I’m a bit skeptical of that situation panning out to be real.”
“I can’t say that I haven’t seen stranger creatures than you where I am from, but I would postulate that there are ‘plainer’ realities that would find your very existence as preposterous as my own.” He shrugged and pushed his hat up enough to see one hazel eye glaring from beneath it, “Maybe there’s a comic about you in out there.”
“I deserve a TV show,” he chuckled, “trust me.” Turning, he cracked the door and reached into the door pocket, pulling free a small package with bold, colorful lettering across its face. “At least ten seasons. Maybe eleven.” Tearing open the seal, he took a large bite of the crumbling, half-crushed and sugar-coated pastry.
The korugaran offered the man a small laugh, relaxing himself somewhat. “I can’t say I ever had much time to indulge in the finer points of Earth’s media, but I think I understand well enough.” He pointed to the pre-packaged meal the demon was devouring, “I suppose you don’t have to eat either? Why are you choosing to now, of all times?”
“Because it’s pie,” Dean retorted with a spray of crumbs and doubtless confidence. “I always get these things at gas stations. Sammy is always bugging me about the preservatives or whatever, but I guess I don’t gotta worry about that crap now. I mean, it’s not like I did before, but even more so now that I’m all demoned up.” He hungrily took another large bite, chunks of syrupy filling clinging to his cheek.
“And who is Sammy? Did they come through with you?” the deputy asked calmly.
Dean paused for a moment, suddenly catching up with his own words. He swallowed his current bite, and crumpled up the rest of the pie in its wrapper, tossing it aside. “Nobody,” he said moodily, his eyes drifting to the ground.
Sighing, Sinestro opened his mouth, but a glimmer on a far-off mesa caught his eye. Turning, he saw a narrow line of smoke trickling from the top of the flat-topped mountain. Quickly stuffing his canteen back into the saddlebag, he leapt onto the camel’s back. He pointed with a long, thin finger and shouted, “Let’s try to head them off before the get too far!”
Dean flung himself over the hood and threw open the door. The Impala’s engine bellowed and cast out a few coughs of exhaust as he revved the engine before the wheels spun wildly and the two were off once again. Sand slowly gusted over the half-buried wrapper, its bold, bright letters never to be seen again.
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