10-30-2015, 10:50 PM
The title she kept using, Prince of Rage, no matter how many times she said it Dean didn't even blink for somehow it fit him. Though he had figured out that apparently she wasn't speaking, the lack of moving lips under the cloth had helped with that. Apparently it was some sort of telepathy, or some crap similar to that.
Whatever, as long as she didn't dig TOO deep he wouldn't have to kill her.
Dean absently traced his fingers along the colt, tracing all the symbols and words carved into it. THE motherfucking COLT was in his hands! It was rusted pretty bad, and sand was jamming up the trigger and possibly some of the other smaller parts, but he could probably fix it given time and the proper tools. Maybe he could even improve on it, give it the old demonic make over. Turn the demon killing weapon into a demonic weapon? Yeah, that sounded like something he had to do.
Dean was lost in his own thoughts till her think/talking brought him back around. Dem-who Mal-what? Dean had no fucking clue who the hell that was, or where to find them.
”Sorry Kid, no idea who that is. If you want we can drive round the dunes till we pick up his trail or something.” Dean paused trying to think of what else could be done. ”Other then that I have no fucking clue.”
Dean watched as the mail girl narrowed her eyes at him and then march over to the passenger side of the car and just open the door and get in, apparently something he had said meant “yes, of course I will give you a ride' to her. Growling a bit Dean opened the drivers door and get in, casting her a glance.
”Buckle up.” Was the only thing he said to her before starting the engine, while making a point of not fastening his own seat belt, and then pressing down on the gas pedal. Apparently she wasn't sure what buckle up meant because her seat belt was undone and she was doing her best not to slide back and forth from Dean's erratic driving. Before heading off to the dunes Dean decided to do a quick drive around town, hanging his head out the window and yelling.
”DEEEMMMEEETRRRIIII MMMAAAAAALLLLLLUUSSS! COME OUT AND PPLLLLLLLAAAAAYYYYYYY-EEEEHHH!!” Ducking his head back into the car he looked at the mail girl and shruged. ”Not in town I guess!”
Dean waited till the were in an empty intersection and spun the car 180 degrees and headed down the road the had just come from, and then headed out of town.
.....
It was probably only about a half hour into the drive now but the entire awkward driving in silence with the creepy mind talking girl was starting to grate on the demon's nerves a bit. Time to attempt small talk, though he probably wasn't that good at it anymore. The only person he had spoken to in earnest since he got here was Sinestro, and with him he could be blunt as hell!
”SSSsssooooooooooo” Dean paused while trying to find the right words then just giving up and blurting out the first thing that came to mind. ”What the hell are you? I mean, you're not human that I can tell, and this place seems to drag in all kinds.”
The words hung in the air a bit before the girl started her think/talk deal. I am a carapacian of the light kingdom Prospit, although that world has been destroyed continuously across many time-lines.
”Right, of course. Silly me for asking.” Dean sighed, of course none of it was going to make sense. ”And you have to be like 16 or something, what the hell are you doing in the fucking dunes?!”
This time she seemed to narrow her eyes at him, almost indignantly. I beg your pardon? I'm afraid that your human concept of age does not apply to my species— we remain largely the same throughout all our lives. There was a pause as she seemed to collect herself a bit. As for wandering in the Dunes... I am prepared for whatever comes my way. I hope so, at least.
As she explained the last part she patted the hilt of a sword, or what Dean guessed was a sword. Ok, so apparently she was a sword wielding ageless postwoman or something, this place was getting fucking weird.
”Now on to point number three, who the hell is Demetri Mallus?” Hopefully she had a better answer to this one.
As a Parcel Mistress, it is my sworn duty to deliver this letter to Mr. Malius. I do not know who he is, only that this mail is for his eyes only. Apparently she did not, this probably meant they were going to be driving in circles till they got a clue, got killed, or just gave up.
”Last question for now, I promise.” Once again your could see on his face that he was searching for the right words, before once again mentally saying fuck it and blurting out whatever. ”Not that it doesn't fit but what the fuck is a Prince of Rage, and why do you keep calling me that?”
I apologize. It is a, Dean watched as she stared out the window, apparently trying to gather her own thoughts. It is a a title that only I seem to have a concept of at present. It is an unnecessary tidbit of information regarding a specific set of predestined mechanics that my brain appears to be struggling to apply to this reality. It could be considered a coping mechanism, I suppose.
”That has to be the most crazy anyone has ever said to me, but if it helps it helps. Know what helps me cope?" Dean waited and finally got an inquisitive reply. Fishing in the box of tapes in the back seat he got a new one and replaced the one already in the player, the one he had forgotten to start up again, and then pressed play.
[b]Like a bat out of hell I'll be gone when the morning comes.
When the night is over, like a bat out of hell, I'll be gone, gone, gone.
Like a bat out of hell I'll be gone when the morning comes.[b]
The music screamed through the speakers and Dean just gave a wicked grin and then suddenly slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and spun the wheel hard, causing the Impala to start doing donuts in the sand. Once they straightened up the Impala rocketed forward and flew up a dune, getting a pretty solid amount of air time before gravity took over and the hit the ground again and took off into the endless dunes once more.
At first the Peregrine Mendicant, or whatever he name was, seemed to be freaking out and trying to hold onto the dash board before she started to relax, then her eyes went wide and then shut tight as she did that weird clicking snapping finger thing she had done when she had found out who Dean was, apparently it was some sort of happy dance. Glad to know she was enjoying the ride at least.
Whatever, as long as she didn't dig TOO deep he wouldn't have to kill her.
Dean absently traced his fingers along the colt, tracing all the symbols and words carved into it. THE motherfucking COLT was in his hands! It was rusted pretty bad, and sand was jamming up the trigger and possibly some of the other smaller parts, but he could probably fix it given time and the proper tools. Maybe he could even improve on it, give it the old demonic make over. Turn the demon killing weapon into a demonic weapon? Yeah, that sounded like something he had to do.
Dean was lost in his own thoughts till her think/talking brought him back around. Dem-who Mal-what? Dean had no fucking clue who the hell that was, or where to find them.
”Sorry Kid, no idea who that is. If you want we can drive round the dunes till we pick up his trail or something.” Dean paused trying to think of what else could be done. ”Other then that I have no fucking clue.”
Dean watched as the mail girl narrowed her eyes at him and then march over to the passenger side of the car and just open the door and get in, apparently something he had said meant “yes, of course I will give you a ride' to her. Growling a bit Dean opened the drivers door and get in, casting her a glance.
”Buckle up.” Was the only thing he said to her before starting the engine, while making a point of not fastening his own seat belt, and then pressing down on the gas pedal. Apparently she wasn't sure what buckle up meant because her seat belt was undone and she was doing her best not to slide back and forth from Dean's erratic driving. Before heading off to the dunes Dean decided to do a quick drive around town, hanging his head out the window and yelling.
”DEEEMMMEEETRRRIIII MMMAAAAAALLLLLLUUSSS! COME OUT AND PPLLLLLLLAAAAAYYYYYYY-EEEEHHH!!” Ducking his head back into the car he looked at the mail girl and shruged. ”Not in town I guess!”
Dean waited till the were in an empty intersection and spun the car 180 degrees and headed down the road the had just come from, and then headed out of town.
.....
It was probably only about a half hour into the drive now but the entire awkward driving in silence with the creepy mind talking girl was starting to grate on the demon's nerves a bit. Time to attempt small talk, though he probably wasn't that good at it anymore. The only person he had spoken to in earnest since he got here was Sinestro, and with him he could be blunt as hell!
”SSSsssooooooooooo” Dean paused while trying to find the right words then just giving up and blurting out the first thing that came to mind. ”What the hell are you? I mean, you're not human that I can tell, and this place seems to drag in all kinds.”
The words hung in the air a bit before the girl started her think/talk deal. I am a carapacian of the light kingdom Prospit, although that world has been destroyed continuously across many time-lines.
”Right, of course. Silly me for asking.” Dean sighed, of course none of it was going to make sense. ”And you have to be like 16 or something, what the hell are you doing in the fucking dunes?!”
This time she seemed to narrow her eyes at him, almost indignantly. I beg your pardon? I'm afraid that your human concept of age does not apply to my species— we remain largely the same throughout all our lives. There was a pause as she seemed to collect herself a bit. As for wandering in the Dunes... I am prepared for whatever comes my way. I hope so, at least.
As she explained the last part she patted the hilt of a sword, or what Dean guessed was a sword. Ok, so apparently she was a sword wielding ageless postwoman or something, this place was getting fucking weird.
”Now on to point number three, who the hell is Demetri Mallus?” Hopefully she had a better answer to this one.
As a Parcel Mistress, it is my sworn duty to deliver this letter to Mr. Malius. I do not know who he is, only that this mail is for his eyes only. Apparently she did not, this probably meant they were going to be driving in circles till they got a clue, got killed, or just gave up.
”Last question for now, I promise.” Once again your could see on his face that he was searching for the right words, before once again mentally saying fuck it and blurting out whatever. ”Not that it doesn't fit but what the fuck is a Prince of Rage, and why do you keep calling me that?”
I apologize. It is a, Dean watched as she stared out the window, apparently trying to gather her own thoughts. It is a a title that only I seem to have a concept of at present. It is an unnecessary tidbit of information regarding a specific set of predestined mechanics that my brain appears to be struggling to apply to this reality. It could be considered a coping mechanism, I suppose.
”That has to be the most crazy anyone has ever said to me, but if it helps it helps. Know what helps me cope?" Dean waited and finally got an inquisitive reply. Fishing in the box of tapes in the back seat he got a new one and replaced the one already in the player, the one he had forgotten to start up again, and then pressed play.
[b]Like a bat out of hell I'll be gone when the morning comes.
When the night is over, like a bat out of hell, I'll be gone, gone, gone.
Like a bat out of hell I'll be gone when the morning comes.[b]
The music screamed through the speakers and Dean just gave a wicked grin and then suddenly slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and spun the wheel hard, causing the Impala to start doing donuts in the sand. Once they straightened up the Impala rocketed forward and flew up a dune, getting a pretty solid amount of air time before gravity took over and the hit the ground again and took off into the endless dunes once more.
At first the Peregrine Mendicant, or whatever he name was, seemed to be freaking out and trying to hold onto the dash board before she started to relax, then her eyes went wide and then shut tight as she did that weird clicking snapping finger thing she had done when she had found out who Dean was, apparently it was some sort of happy dance. Glad to know she was enjoying the ride at least.
Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole.
![[Image: yep.gif]](http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y180/captainmolotov/yep.gif)