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: 2010-10-31 12:44 am (UTC)There better be some fuckin' pie. Love me some pie.
[He purses his lips thoughtfully.]
I could use some help, yeah. Dunno which room I'm in- Hold on.
[He leaves the view of the camera, and there are a few heavy footsteps and the creaking of door hinges. Dean yells back at the communications unit.]
It's floor ten, room one-hundred!
[He comes back into the screen's limits, a little closer with a genuine smile on his face.]
I could use a tour guide.
[Not that he actually needs one, but...it's better to meet up with people when he doesn't know what the fuck is going on.]
[Video -- Action? :D]
Date: 2010-10-31 12:54 am (UTC)All right, I'll totally come save you. Out of the goodness of my heart.
[She clicks off the feed, then spends a few minutes checking herself out in the mirror before making her way to his room.
KNOCK KNOCK, you have a visitor!]
[Video -- Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 01:09 am (UTC)[Offers a winning smile before her video feed fizzles out, and switches back to the channel with Kurt until she gets there. Turns around in his chair, shouting at the door, hand reaching into his jacket to play over the gun just in case, calling out in a gruff voice.]
Come in.
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 01:15 am (UTC)Hey. Think you can make the walk now before you faint from hunger? [She's teasing instead of being sarcastic, as she would be usually. Cute guys get special treatment.]
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 01:27 am (UTC)I can try.
[Pushes himself off the chair, most likely towering over her at six feet, three inches. Shoving his hands into his pockets, the smile persists.]
We gotta wait for triangle-sweater, though. He heard you comin' and wanted to join.
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 01:35 am (UTC)She smiles up (and up) at him...until he mentions Kurt. Smile: gone.]
What. Of course he did. [Cue the faux-concern.] I just hope he doesn't make you uncomfortable.
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 01:45 am (UTC)Uncomfortable? Why?
[Dean smiles blithely, waggling his eyebrows.]
You jealous, or somethin'?
[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 02:02 am (UTC)[Action]
Date: 2010-10-31 02:05 am (UTC)Anyway indeed, Santana rolls her eyes when the knock comes.]
I really don't have anything to be jealous of. Especially not concerning him.
[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)