23: [Action/Video] Pirates

[dashboardlite]

Who'll make his mark
The captain cried
To the devil drink a toast
We'll glut the hold
With cups of gold
And we'll feed the sea with ghosts
I see your hunger for a fortune
Could be better
Served beneath my flag
If you've the stomach
For a broadside
Come aboard my pretty boys
I will take you and make you
Everything you've ever dreamed.

Obscenely loud music is blaring from one of the first floor parlors, and it possesses a remarkable nautical quality that borders on the fucking epic.  You might be wondering the reason for these festive tunes, curious resident.  If you happen to be peering through your communicator or walking down the hall, venturing into the nearest open door, your vision is assaulted by a swath of colorful fabrics draped over the furniture, from the ceilings, along the walls.  The alluring glitter of gold winks up at you from piles on the floor, and a bust of someone who looks suspiciously like Edward Teach is bedecked in jewelry and scarves.

The captain rose from a silk divan
With a pistol in his fist
And shot the lock from an iron box
And a blood red ruby kissed
I give you jewelry of turquoise
A crucifix of solid gold
One hundred thousand silver pieces
It is just as I foretold
You, you see there before you
Everything you've ever dreamed.

You might even see Dean Winchester, sporting an eyepatch and a large, plumed hat, lounging on a silk divan.  His jeans are tucked into heavy leather boots and he's wielding a flintlock pistol, cleaning the barrel with a chamois rag.  Pausing for one moment, he sets the gun aside and reaches over to pick up one of the gold doubloons scattered across the floor.  He then peels away the leafing and pops the chocolate money into his mouth, enjoying it with obvious relish.  Turning the music down as soon as it breaks to an instrumental interlude, Dean crosses his legs on the divan, getting comfortable.

He pulls out a hip flask, taking a swig and saluting the camera with his left hand - observant residents might notice that he appears to have only four fingers now.  Then he spreads his arms to welcome the adoring audience.

"All aboard, bitches."

Comments

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

"Uh."

He leans to one side, looking out the doorway and into the hall across from another room. It says 'eight'. Therefore,

"I'm in seven."

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

"Room seven, floor one," Daniel mutters to himself. He's not casual about committing things to memory.

"I will come there now, if it please you."

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Dean gives him a slightly-incredulous look. He's kidding, right? It's boring as Hell here.

Maybe he should just stop relating things to Hell when he knows what it's like, now.

"Dude, I ain't got anything better to do. C'mon down."

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

A flash of a grateful smile.

"A moment, then."

Daniel turns the communicator off. He's gotten quite good at working it, now.



It takes a few minutes to walk down from the fifth floor to the first. Daniel isn't coming from the fifth floor, because he's temporarily relocated, but the time requirement is similar. Then he's knocking on the door of room seven, glancing warily up the corridor as he does.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Dean switches off his own communicator, a little put-out at the reception he's been getting from other mansion residents (Fuck's sake, who doesn't like pirates? Crazy people, that's who.) and leans back leisurely on his couch of perpetual indulgence divan, tipping his hat over his eye while he waits.

As soon as someone knocks, he waves airily from his relaxed position and states loudly,

"Enter the captain's quarters!"

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

Daniel is in far too much of a funk to ever possibly play along with such a ridiculous oh all right then.

"It is first mate Daniel, sir," he says as he lets himself in. Honestly it's a relief to focus on something less serious than the doom and gloom that's been plaguing him. His smile is pretty weak but he's trying, damnit.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

It's good that Daniel is trying. Dean's been trying, too, so how about a round of drinks for trying? A+ for effort, boys.

"Thank God you're here, I was getting bored out of my mind," Dean sits upright, swinging his legs over the side of the divan and tipping his hat back up to get a better look at Daniel.

"...dude. You look like shit."

Not that Dean can say anything, really.

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

Daniel looks a little disappointed. Because all the time is time for vanity.

"I... suppose I do."

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

It's not Daniel's choice of wardrobe, it's the way he carries himself. Daniel always seems to be dressed impeccably well. Even if Dean thinks there are way too many layers.

"Nah, you just- ...I dunno, you look tired."

Pot calling the kettle black.

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

"I've not slept well."

He's been generous with the laudanum, but it's not the same as real, restful sleep. Daniel scrubs at one eye almost unconsciously.

"Have you..."

He tries to ask again. Again, cannot.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

"No kidding," Dean gestures that Daniel take a seat in any one of the armchairs around him, and he holds out his flask of whiskey in offering. At least, he holds it out until the unfinished question strikes again.

Retracting his arm and looking down at his left hand thoughtfully, Dean chews the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering.

"Had a run-in with Clarence? Yeah."

Assuming that Daniel knows about and is talking about Clarence. If he's that close to Phil, though, Dean would hazard to say that Philip's told Daniel quite bit about himself.

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

Daniel's eyes widen, but at the same time his face takes on a look of resignation, the expression of someone who'd feared that that would be the case. He runs a hand over his face, bothered by the headache that hasn't let up for a few days now.

A brief silence.

"Do you know how... he came to..."

Trap Philip inside his own head? Go on a murder and mutilation spree?

"...return?"

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

"No clue," Dean admits, huffing a sigh. Not knowing how it happened has been frustrating, but he plans on asking Castiel if he saw anything while digging around in Philip's head. He might have stumbled across the means with which Phil was trapped.

He notices the way Daniel is rubbing his temple, and holds out the flask of whiskey again.

"Here. This'll help."

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

"Thank you."

He accepts the flask and takes a generous gulp of whiskey, feeling it burn down his throat. Daniel's one of those people who drinks to spite his own high tolerance. Because mild intoxication is the cure for all ills, right?

Another silence. He opens his mouth, closes it again. There are things Daniel wants to say, ask, discuss - but they're the kind of things he'd say to Philip. If Philip weren't unavailable for discourse.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Intoxication is always the cure for your problems. Just ask Dean. His liver is probably shot.

Leaning back on the divan, he watches Daniel carefully for another moment.

"...Dude, if you got somethin' to say, say it. We don't have all day to beat around the bush, and I guarantee it's nothing I haven't heard before."

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

He doesn't know Dean all that well, and for an early Victorian man it's sort of not the done thing to go spilling your guts to acquaintances. Not in a less than strictly literal sense, anyway.

You know what, he needs another mouthful from the whiskey flask.

"Will he be all right?"

How Dean's supposed to know that is anybody's guess.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Telling the truth wouldn't be kind, in this situation. Not encouraging, to say that the full psychological recovery after being possessed by a demon and mutilating friends could take anywhere from two months to two years. Some people are never the same. Some people make the jump easier. But the landing is never soft.

Dean stretches the truth, because he knows that Philip is never going to forgive himself.

"He'll bounce back," he nods definitively, as if everything he has to say can be taken at face-value. "It's gonna be harder for him to recover if he doesn't have our help, though."

He fiddles with a piece of chocolate money, peeling off the wrapper to keep his hands busy, and sends Daniel a sidelong glance.

"D'you forgive him?"

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

Daniel is quite willing to be lied to, and quite able to take things at face value. He's a little reassured.

"I know that he was not the one wielding - who -"

Can they. Can they not get into specifics at all ever please and thanks.

"I - I know that it was not his fault; yes - I forgive him." He's already thought about this. He's already realised that their relationship is built on letting things slide. He can say the word forgive pretty easily, and hope to be able to keep to it.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

"That's good."

And it is. It's really good. It's probably more than Philip ever anticipated getting, and since things have come down to the point where they're all pretty much dangerous (Except Daniel, unless he has some kind of sinister secret hiding beneath his cravat. But that would be silly.), it's best they offer each other the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe they should change the subject, now.

"So what's your world like, anyway? What year are you from, again?"

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

"Eighteen thirty-nine," he answers, absolutely willing to change the subject. "I lived in London, Mayfair."

By this point he can form the syllables and feel like there's some recognition attached to them.

"And yourself? --You are another from the future." That's clear enough from his clothes.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

"...damn."

That's well over a hundred years ago. Practically two centuries. No wonder he dresses like friggin' Shakespeare.

Dean suddenly feels like Marty McFly.

"And yeah, I'm from the future. Two-thousand and seven. We got cars and flannel and- youuuu probably don't know what I'm talking about, do you? Geez, how'd you even figure out how to use the communicator?"

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

"Philip has acted as tutor." He says it with a bit of a smile, because hey, there's a good memory of Philip he can focus on rather than a memory of Clarence's mocking voice and twisted expression.

Hang on, though, he can't let this misconception about his time go uncorrected. Daniel doesn't want Dean looking down on him or anything.

"But I know what a car is, of course. Our rail network spans..." Uhh that's difficult to estimate when you can only remember one station. He finishes lamely: "Some distance."

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Dean takes a moment to try and think of a good memory with Philip. Being able to talk about his (probably) son was kind of nice, and getting geared up to make a car...yeah, that's definitely gotta happen sometime soon. It would get his mind off of things.

"A...railroad car," Dean deadpans, feeling the edges of his lips pulling into a smile. That's so sad it's almost adorable.*

"That's, uh...cool, I guess. I'm plannin' on building a car from my time if you wanna work on it."



* - In a completely platonic way, because Daniel totally has the hots for Philip teacher.

[blimeyjamwalls.livejournal.com]

"You don't say. Are they much advanced?"

He does sound interested. Not because of the mechanics - though he can do mechanics if he has to - but because of the item out of time. There's a reason he studied as an archaeologist.


* - He so doesn't, Dean, you wanker.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

"Dude, these things are so advanced they're gonna blow your mind."

Dean chuckles, making a grab for his flask and indulging in a little Southern Comfort. He spreads his arms, then, and tries to explain.

"It's like...okay, it's like a train, but smaller and probably more dangerous. Engine's right in the front, probably about a foot away from the driver's seat."



* - Daniel Denial is not just a river in Egypt.