09-01-2015, 02:52 PM
Dean’s blade sunk into the woman’s chest again, the jagged edges of the jaw bone shredding more than cutting as shattered her ribs and punctured her already tattered lung. Tearing it free with a grinding, crackling slorp, the demon snarled, his black eyes wide with rage. He paused for a moment to consider his victim’s ragged attempts at gasping before hammering down two, three and four more stabs.
Dropping the body to ground the blood-soaked man looked over the encampment and admired his crimson warpath while he heaved heavy breaths. At least six were dead, though he had honestly lost count, the blackened night sky and their scattered remains made it hard to count. The symbol on his arm burned through the blood that covered it, glowing an angry red as Dean reeled in his manic spree of destruction.
“Now, what do you know about the woman?” Sinestro snapped, his face illuminated by the flicking light of a nearby camp fire. He was holding the man who hd been knocked to his knees by the collar and he growled, “I’m losing my patience and I’m sure my friend wouldn’t mind making another warm body cold.”
The man’s dirt-smeared face twisted and was made gruesome by the shadows that were etched into his wrinkles by the flame. “Ok, ok!” he shouted, “She paid us to go after you two, ok? It wasn’t too much, but she said we could pick up more if we finished the job.”
Jerking the man up off of his knees, Sinestro screamed, “Where did she tell you to meet her!?” spittle flying into the attempted hit-man’s face. His eyes finally gave way to the tears they had been holding back and the thug stammered a moment before Sinestro back-handed him to the ground. “I tried to warn you,” he snarled with a dismissive undertone.
Dean’s red hands grabbed the bandit’s jacket by the shoulders and began dragging him backwards. The man thrashed and kicked wildly, pleading and howling for mercy. The demon grinned as he hoisted the man over his head and slowly lowered him over the edge of a cliff. A quick glance down confirmed the drop; several hundred feet spanning below. The boiling pitch of Dean’s eyes stared into the bandit’s soul, and he could feel it shrinking in terror. “Where?” Dean gnarled, the sound of tearing fabric underscoring his cruel intention.
“She told us to meet her at Rick’s!” the bandit yammered, clinging on to Dean’s wrists, his legs kicking into the empty air.
Dean shook him forcefully and one of his boots slipped from his foot, tumbling into the plain below. “Who the hell is Rick?”
“Gat-damn, son! Calm down,” the bandit twanged in his heavy accent. “I’m tellin’ ya right now!”
Letting go with his right hand, Dean held him with the strength of his left before punching him squarely in the nose, splattering it all over his face. “WHO THE HELL IS RICK!?”
“Rick’s Café American!” the bandit spat with a spurt of blood. “It’s in Carrefore, you can’t miss it! She told us ta ask for ‘Miss M,’ but that’s all she told me, I swear it!”
The demon looked back to the sheriff who stood a few paces behind him, carefully watching the scene with crossed arms. The deputy nodded curtly and continued to watch. Dean smirked gently and cocked his head to the side, “Welp, it’s been nice getting’ to know ya, uh…” his brow quirked, “what’s your name again?”
“Curti-“ the man’s words transformed into a blood-curdling scream as Dean flung him into the ravine. He leaned over the edge of the cliff to watch the old bandit’s body break over the low-lying stones, though he was a bit disappointed that the moon didn’t offer him the light to see it in detail. Brushing his hands together, the demon smiled and turned back to Sinestro.
“It looks like we have our heading,” the deputy snipped and began to walk to their vehicles. He passed by the dilapidated tents and paused for a moment to look inside. “Isn’t it strange that she would hire people to come for us? Does she think that they could put us down after the beating you gave her?”
“Hm, maybe not,” Dean contemplated, wiping the First Blade back and forth on his jeans. “Maybe she’s just giving these jackasses some info that she hopes we’ll get.”
Nodding, Sinestro entered the tent and began to rustle around inside. “A fake lead to put us into a trap. Do you think that Reaper would do that?”
“Reapers are smarter than they have any right being, so I wouldn’t put it past her.” He removed his leather jacket and gave it a good shake, a slosh of blood splattering onto the ground. “But we know she’s in Carrefore, or else that’d be a really shitty trap.”
“Or perhaps she has more contacts than we think, and has left some of them behind for us,” Sinestro mused as he exited the tent, a crate full of rations in his hands.
Dean peeled off his sweaty and stained t shirt and tossed it to the side, revealing his horrifically scarred but immaculately chiseled torso. “Bitch is off the rails, I kinda doubt she’s making many friends.” He carefully rolled one of the bandits onto their chest and carefully pulled their shirt over their slit throat. Thankfully they were wearing black so the blood wouldn’t show too much. He pulled it over his head and tugged at it, checking for the fit. Next he plucked the hat off of the outlaw’s head and planted it on his head. “How’s this look?”
Sinestro arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Dean pinched the edge of the near-black cowboy hat and slid his finger over the edge as he pulled it down fashionably, “Does this hat look good on me?”
The alien rolled his eyes, “The picture of fashion, Dean.” He began to unpack his load into the camel’s depleted saddle bags, again pausing to suck down an entire container of water.
“What’s the use in going incognito if I don’t look like a badass?” the demon snarked. He scoured the mangle of bodies until he finally found a large duster and tossed it on, shuffling until the shoulders fell correctly. It was a little big, but he rolled the cuffs and checked the window of his car, nodding to himself. “I look alright,” he said flatly.
Sinestro glanced back and forth and motioned towards a person who’s face had been completely caved it. “I think that hat would look better with the jacket.”
“Hm,” Dean huffed, tossing his current headwear into the dirt, “I think you’re right.” He scooped it up and pushed it on, flicking the brim dramatically.
Sinestro shook his head and tugged on his dusty woolen poncho. “Are you finished?”
“Are you?” the demon jabbed back as flung open his car door, “’Cause if you’re done pillaging for scraps we’ve got an obvious trap to wander into.”
Tugging on the straps on his camel’s side, he gazed over the scene of carnage and ruination again. “I’m ready,” he said and hoisted himself onto his hump-backed mount.
Dropping the body to ground the blood-soaked man looked over the encampment and admired his crimson warpath while he heaved heavy breaths. At least six were dead, though he had honestly lost count, the blackened night sky and their scattered remains made it hard to count. The symbol on his arm burned through the blood that covered it, glowing an angry red as Dean reeled in his manic spree of destruction.
“Now, what do you know about the woman?” Sinestro snapped, his face illuminated by the flicking light of a nearby camp fire. He was holding the man who hd been knocked to his knees by the collar and he growled, “I’m losing my patience and I’m sure my friend wouldn’t mind making another warm body cold.”
The man’s dirt-smeared face twisted and was made gruesome by the shadows that were etched into his wrinkles by the flame. “Ok, ok!” he shouted, “She paid us to go after you two, ok? It wasn’t too much, but she said we could pick up more if we finished the job.”
Jerking the man up off of his knees, Sinestro screamed, “Where did she tell you to meet her!?” spittle flying into the attempted hit-man’s face. His eyes finally gave way to the tears they had been holding back and the thug stammered a moment before Sinestro back-handed him to the ground. “I tried to warn you,” he snarled with a dismissive undertone.
Dean’s red hands grabbed the bandit’s jacket by the shoulders and began dragging him backwards. The man thrashed and kicked wildly, pleading and howling for mercy. The demon grinned as he hoisted the man over his head and slowly lowered him over the edge of a cliff. A quick glance down confirmed the drop; several hundred feet spanning below. The boiling pitch of Dean’s eyes stared into the bandit’s soul, and he could feel it shrinking in terror. “Where?” Dean gnarled, the sound of tearing fabric underscoring his cruel intention.
“She told us to meet her at Rick’s!” the bandit yammered, clinging on to Dean’s wrists, his legs kicking into the empty air.
Dean shook him forcefully and one of his boots slipped from his foot, tumbling into the plain below. “Who the hell is Rick?”
“Gat-damn, son! Calm down,” the bandit twanged in his heavy accent. “I’m tellin’ ya right now!”
Letting go with his right hand, Dean held him with the strength of his left before punching him squarely in the nose, splattering it all over his face. “WHO THE HELL IS RICK!?”
“Rick’s Café American!” the bandit spat with a spurt of blood. “It’s in Carrefore, you can’t miss it! She told us ta ask for ‘Miss M,’ but that’s all she told me, I swear it!”
The demon looked back to the sheriff who stood a few paces behind him, carefully watching the scene with crossed arms. The deputy nodded curtly and continued to watch. Dean smirked gently and cocked his head to the side, “Welp, it’s been nice getting’ to know ya, uh…” his brow quirked, “what’s your name again?”
“Curti-“ the man’s words transformed into a blood-curdling scream as Dean flung him into the ravine. He leaned over the edge of the cliff to watch the old bandit’s body break over the low-lying stones, though he was a bit disappointed that the moon didn’t offer him the light to see it in detail. Brushing his hands together, the demon smiled and turned back to Sinestro.
“It looks like we have our heading,” the deputy snipped and began to walk to their vehicles. He passed by the dilapidated tents and paused for a moment to look inside. “Isn’t it strange that she would hire people to come for us? Does she think that they could put us down after the beating you gave her?”
“Hm, maybe not,” Dean contemplated, wiping the First Blade back and forth on his jeans. “Maybe she’s just giving these jackasses some info that she hopes we’ll get.”
Nodding, Sinestro entered the tent and began to rustle around inside. “A fake lead to put us into a trap. Do you think that Reaper would do that?”
“Reapers are smarter than they have any right being, so I wouldn’t put it past her.” He removed his leather jacket and gave it a good shake, a slosh of blood splattering onto the ground. “But we know she’s in Carrefore, or else that’d be a really shitty trap.”
“Or perhaps she has more contacts than we think, and has left some of them behind for us,” Sinestro mused as he exited the tent, a crate full of rations in his hands.
Dean peeled off his sweaty and stained t shirt and tossed it to the side, revealing his horrifically scarred but immaculately chiseled torso. “Bitch is off the rails, I kinda doubt she’s making many friends.” He carefully rolled one of the bandits onto their chest and carefully pulled their shirt over their slit throat. Thankfully they were wearing black so the blood wouldn’t show too much. He pulled it over his head and tugged at it, checking for the fit. Next he plucked the hat off of the outlaw’s head and planted it on his head. “How’s this look?”
Sinestro arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Dean pinched the edge of the near-black cowboy hat and slid his finger over the edge as he pulled it down fashionably, “Does this hat look good on me?”
The alien rolled his eyes, “The picture of fashion, Dean.” He began to unpack his load into the camel’s depleted saddle bags, again pausing to suck down an entire container of water.
“What’s the use in going incognito if I don’t look like a badass?” the demon snarked. He scoured the mangle of bodies until he finally found a large duster and tossed it on, shuffling until the shoulders fell correctly. It was a little big, but he rolled the cuffs and checked the window of his car, nodding to himself. “I look alright,” he said flatly.
Sinestro glanced back and forth and motioned towards a person who’s face had been completely caved it. “I think that hat would look better with the jacket.”
“Hm,” Dean huffed, tossing his current headwear into the dirt, “I think you’re right.” He scooped it up and pushed it on, flicking the brim dramatically.
Sinestro shook his head and tugged on his dusty woolen poncho. “Are you finished?”
“Are you?” the demon jabbed back as flung open his car door, “’Cause if you’re done pillaging for scraps we’ve got an obvious trap to wander into.”
Tugging on the straps on his camel’s side, he gazed over the scene of carnage and ruination again. “I’m ready,” he said and hoisted himself onto his hump-backed mount.
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