01: [Voice -> Video] Carry On Wayward Son
Oct. 30th, 2010 02:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dashboardlite[There's an unhappy growling sound, a few switches clicking, and the low buzz of electronics warming up.]
C'mon, you fucker. Jesus, you- Okay. There. God damn it, didn't think I'd have to leave my own message like a bad zombie apocalypse movie.
[The screen flickers and it clears up to show a man's torso before he bends down to squint into the camera. He's ruggedly good-looking, albeit a little angry at present with the set jaw and furrowed brow. He narrows green eyes at the lens and prods it experimentally before shuffling to one side and scraping a chair across the floor to the table, settling on it and propping his feet up before speaking.]
No goddamn clue where I am.
[He groans, rubbing the back of his neck.]
'M in a room, in a house, and Sammy if you get this broadcast you come and find me, you hear? For all I know it's the freakin' trickster again tryin' to screw around with me, and this time I don't wanna die chokin' on a taco or getting a desk dropped on my sexy head.
[The man glares at the camera before digging into his leather jacket, pulling out an IMI Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol and checking the weight and munitions cartridge. Prying one of the bullets out, he holds it up to the camera briefly.]
See that? Wrought iron.
[Looks rather pleased with himself as he replaces it in its case and reloads the gun.]
If any demons or ghosts come around lookin' for me I'll be ready.
[Quirks a little smile at the gun before tucking it back into his jacket and fingering the amulet around his neck, lost in thought for a moment before mumbling hoarsely.]
...you gotta find me, Sammy. S'not like I had much time left, anyway.
[He reaches over, and there are a few seconds of muffled, bumping noises before he hits the switch and the screen goes black.]
C'mon, you fucker. Jesus, you- Okay. There. God damn it, didn't think I'd have to leave my own message like a bad zombie apocalypse movie.
[The screen flickers and it clears up to show a man's torso before he bends down to squint into the camera. He's ruggedly good-looking, albeit a little angry at present with the set jaw and furrowed brow. He narrows green eyes at the lens and prods it experimentally before shuffling to one side and scraping a chair across the floor to the table, settling on it and propping his feet up before speaking.]
No goddamn clue where I am.
[He groans, rubbing the back of his neck.]
'M in a room, in a house, and Sammy if you get this broadcast you come and find me, you hear? For all I know it's the freakin' trickster again tryin' to screw around with me, and this time I don't wanna die chokin' on a taco or getting a desk dropped on my sexy head.
[The man glares at the camera before digging into his leather jacket, pulling out an IMI Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol and checking the weight and munitions cartridge. Prying one of the bullets out, he holds it up to the camera briefly.]
See that? Wrought iron.
[Looks rather pleased with himself as he replaces it in its case and reloads the gun.]
If any demons or ghosts come around lookin' for me I'll be ready.
[Quirks a little smile at the gun before tucking it back into his jacket and fingering the amulet around his neck, lost in thought for a moment before mumbling hoarsely.]
...you gotta find me, Sammy. S'not like I had much time left, anyway.
[He reaches over, and there are a few seconds of muffled, bumping noises before he hits the switch and the screen goes black.]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 02:21 am (UTC)Well, with the way you're checkin' out my pecs, somethin's goin' on.
[He turns the handle, stepping back to open the door. And staring. Yeah, that sweater's pretty impressive in real life.]
...Kurt.
[Nods a little, biting his tongue from some snide remark about the sweater. If Sammy were here, he'd get a bitchface.]
Glad you could join us.
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 02:33 am (UTC)Glad to be here, Dean. Santana.
[]
I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long?
[]
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 02:36 am (UTC)She's giving him the same exact look, by the way. You look 12; go away.]
Not long enough. [So cheerful!]
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 03:32 am (UTC)Nah, wasn't too long. I was probably shit at small-talk, though.
[Dean clears his throat awkwardly in the sudden silence that falls over all three of them, and moves to the duffel bag on his bed.]
...well, if we're going anywhere...
[He rummages through the bag, checking through the few weapons he has before zipping it back up slinging it over his shoulder.]
...we'll be safe.
[Dean rubs his chin, eyes darting between the two teens in front of him, mentally smacking himself in the forehead. Why was he even teaming up with adolescents; he remembered his own teenage years as being hormonally charged and- Oh.]
So, who's gonna play leader?
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 03:57 am (UTC)I'll bring us there. It's the least I can do for showing up late, even if it was fashionably so.
[]
It's on the first floor, but I'm sure we'll all be fine in your capable hands. Shall we?
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 04:02 am (UTC)Uh-huh. [She stands next to Dean, then gives Kurt the sweetest most kindest smile ever. No, really.] Go on, then, Kurt. Lead on, and we'll follow. Behind you.
[switching gears]
Date: 2010-10-31 04:57 am (UTC)