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}
[video]
Date: 2010-11-01 05:43 am (UTC)[He sounds vaguely incredulous. But, then again, he's experienced worse things. He's seen worse things. Hell, he's going to Hell itself, soon. Why not go down swinging?]
Thanks for the tip, and- [Dean stops, smiling a little.] I'm Dean Winchester. Who're you?
[video]
Date: 2010-11-01 06:08 am (UTC)[ The latter was just a little experiment, though the former is what really gets her. Damn it all. Oh, another thing. ]
Nothing personal. Guy tried getting a picture of his daughter. Didn't work.
[ Is that all? She thinks that's all. ]
Plenty of weapons though.
[ The plenty is drawn out for emphasis. Tasty, tasty, rocket launchers. ]
Christine Gayle.
[ She gives him a little salute while lighting a cigarette. ]
So, Dean.... demons and ghosts? What is that about?
[ It doesn't sound particularly incredulous; being stuck in an alternative dimension helps you embrace the idea of supernatural occurrences, after all. ]
[video]
Date: 2010-11-01 06:37 am (UTC)[He growls a little under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. Nothing personal, so he can't get dad's journal to see if it has anything about this forsaken hellhole.]
...well. Weapons are better than nothing.
[Dean inclines his head respectfully, feeling a weird-but-still-trustworthy vibe from this woman.]
Cristine.
[He says gruffly, rubbing his lower lip for a moment before extrapolating.]
I'm a hunter. I hunt supernatural things, like the monster you had in your closet when you were little. Only they're real. [The man rolls his shoulders.] Real, and they like to peel the flesh from your bones and trade you nice-lookin' things for your soul.