ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛᴇᴏᴜs ᴍᴀɴ ( ᴊᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ ᴀɴᴋʟᴇs ) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
righteously) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2023-05-20 02:32 pm
righteously) wrote in abraxaslogs2023-05-20 02:32 pm
Tʜᴇʀᴇ's ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴀᴄʜᴇ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ
Who: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle, Castiel, Ciri, Geralt, Jaskier, Sam Wilson, probably others that I'm forgetting
When: Last week and a half of May
Where: Cadens, the bad lands, and the Winchester-Harvelle house
What: Demon Dean triggers his master plan to snatch Ciri and take her to the singularity to portal him off-world. The gang catches up and things get violent before Dean is eventually subdued and cured.
Warnings: Demons trying to be as demonic as possible, with all the gross violence and mean language that entails. Also, needles.
𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒
𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ
𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒
𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛' 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦
𝐼𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒
𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
When: Last week and a half of May
Where: Cadens, the bad lands, and the Winchester-Harvelle house
What: Demon Dean triggers his master plan to snatch Ciri and take her to the singularity to portal him off-world. The gang catches up and things get violent before Dean is eventually subdued and cured.
Warnings: Demons trying to be as demonic as possible, with all the gross violence and mean language that entails. Also, needles.
𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ
𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒
𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛' 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦
𝐼𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒
𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
no subject
After a moment or two, the laughter dies down with a soft, amused sigh. )
I guess that's one way to look at it. A better one might be that Dean killed Dean. Jumping in front of that giant, pissed-off, hungry fucking fish is the dumbest, most idiotic move a person could make. Of course, I turned after the first drowning, and then I just... kept on drowning for a couple weeks. So, was it me? Was it him? Was it the fish, was it the water, was it the pointless nobodies that stood by and let it happen? The people he died for? Was it the Mark?
( Kanye shrug. )
What's the difference? Either way, that guy's deader'n a doornail. Who gives a crap?
no subject
She listens, and the laughter makes her skin crawl. Ciri only knows the vaguest details; naturally, no one had wanted to talk about it too much, and she hadn't wanted to press Jo. Something had happened. Dean had never returned. Presumed dead. She hadn't been happy to hear the news, but with nothing else to do, she had simply moved on. The same way she did when she finally returned home after weeks in that pit, only to find Rinwell vanished again. The same way she did when others around her disappeared or died. Of course, she'd been sad-- and that was that, for the moment.
This is so much worse.
She asks another question. Quiet, resigned. ]
What are you?
[ She wants to know what to call the creature wearing her friend's face.
And to tell Geralt how to kill it, when he comes. ]
no subject
She can't see it, but maybe she can hear the subtle change in direction: he turns toward her to beam at her, like he's proud of himself. )
I'm a demon.
( You remember that sigil he painted onto the floors of your home? The permanent ink he etched into your skin as you wept to help protect you from the monster he lived in paranoid fear of? That he spent days tattooing onto every single person he gave a crap about just to make sure they were never possessed?
This is, quite obviously, the worst nightmare of the man he was. It's hilariously ironic to the point of being painful, and he relishes that. Hopes it twists like a knife to anyone who gave half a shit about him before. Let it taint the memory of that man, let him ruin it to all of them. )
no subject
Clearly, his hadn't helped. She has to wonder if the creature riding around in Dean's skin needs her alive for reasons beyond attempting to open a door to his sphere. Does it intend to take her next, or is it somehow bound to Dean, specifically? There's too much she doesn't know.
Ciri closes her eyes beneath the blindfold. She doesn't need to see to hear the smugness in his voice, and to know they're likely thinking the same thing: what a truly awful fate this is for Dean. It twists her stomach into knots, between the anger and the sadness and the simmering fear that must be kept at bay. Maybe it's a mercy that he's dead. It would be even worse to live trapped, something else controlling your body; she knows that all too well.
For a long time, she remains silent, refusing the acknowledge that gloating response. If he keeps chattering away, she'll listen for anything important, but in the meantime, she concentrates on something else. ]
no subject
They walk.
And walk.
And walk.
And walk.
The miles would pass by faster if they were both on horseback, but the risk that she could take control of the beast and bolt on it was too high. Too many creatures to juggle. What they lose in speed, they make up for in endurance — he never stops to rest, to eat, to sleep, to piss. He doesn't need to. Their pace is steady, constant.
Through the boring mundanity comes an absent sort of peace. His guard slips down a little. )
no subject
They settle into something of a stalemate, neither speaking, while Ciri does her best to get comfortable throughout the trek and decides to save her energy instead of arguing or fighting back further. She considers telling him that what he has planned won't work, that she can't do it even if she wanted to, but the last thing she needs is for the demon to decide she's no longer worthwhile and off her on the spot. Geralt is on his way; she's certain of that.
But it's a big desert. She could only give him the vaguest idea of where they'd been hours ago. She's going to need more to go on. A distraction. A stalling tactic.
It isn't even contrived; there comes a point where Demon Dean's energy surpasses not just her own, but that of the horse as well. They've been walking through the day in the open desert, which may not be hot as it is in summer, but by now, it's getting close. Ciri can feel the mare's gait slowing and stumbling, the heat rising off her sweating body. She needs water, shade, and rest. They both do.
Ciri's voice is rough when she finally speaks again. It feels like it takes several tries to get enough moisture in her throat to form the words without coughing. ]
You're killing your horse.
no subject
But they still have a long way to go, and if he has to carry her ass the whole way it's gonna get real annoying real fast. Nothing says vacation like constant kicks to the kidneys or a fist up his ass or whatever it is she'd do with such easy, uninhibited access to his person.
At length, he sighs and steers them over toward an outcropping of rock that casts shade over a few yards of ground. There, he stops them and goes about digging around in a saddle bag for one of the water skins he brought.
Once the horse is set up to drink, he yanks Ciri off of her back and plops her onto the ground again. )
Here's your bathroom break, princess. Better take it, because we're not stopping again any time soon.
no subject
There's no point in these. [ Her voice is flat, resigned. She does not reach for the blindfold, though it'd be easier to remove than the ropes. Perhaps his threats have cowed her, or perhaps all that time in the hot sun. Ciri ducks her head, shoulders slumping as she lets out a long breath. ]
I'm hardly going to run across the desert on my own. But if I'm too sick or weak to do what you want, neither of us gets out of this.
Maybe you don't remember what humans need to survive, but food, water and rest are rather at the top of the list.
no subject
He leans back against a rock while the horse drinks, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, impassive. Unimpressed, unswayed, unsympathetic. )
You can eat on the horse. You can drink on the horse. And you can sleep- guess where?
( On the horse. )
Your little plan to drag ass until your pops can show up? Not exactly a genius maneuver. We're not slowing down. If the horse dies, I'll carry you there myself, and I promise it won't be as pleasant of a ride.
no subject
After a few moments, she'll chance the blindfold too and see what happens, but if Dean gets his panties all up in a twist about it again, she won't insist. You've heard a man threaten to scoop your eyeballs out once, you've heard it a hundred times. She gets it.
Ciri doesn't bother arguing further. She'll take whatever time is allotted to rest and rally herself a bit, take care of whatever she can, determined to ignore Dean all the while.
She has to wait for the right time. Geralt is a good tracker, but she can help, as long as she can get a better look around where they've ended up. And besides, she has to wonder how much Dean really knows about her abilities, considering not only some fundamental misconceptions, but the fact he's let her loose enough to run.
It's all a matter of weighing the risks when it comes to how unreliable her portalling is, and how reliable the demon's threats may be in turn. ]
no subject
As time ticks by with her on relatively good behavior, his guard slowly drops a little. He steps away enough to stretch, to check on the horse's water supply, to offer it a little bit out of the feedbag. Even steps around to rummage through the saddlebags for something to thrust into her hands later, once they're back on the road. Bread, probably. Something to hold her over.
It's prime time for an escape attempt, which surely could only end well. )
no subject
All the while, Ciri keeps her head down, moves slowly. Perhaps it seems to be out of fear, or at least because of the blindfold; it's mostly because she's straining her hearing to catch every footstep and rustle of clothing and saddlebags, trying to place where Dean is the whole time.
When his footsteps retreat some ways and she hears him messing with something for a good few seconds, she decides it's now or never.
On the one hand, she could play nice, sit still and hope that Geralt can use the sparse clues he's got so far to find her soon. The demon needs her alive, after all. And despite its threats, she's fairly sure it wouldn't risk the grand plan by severely injuring her. But the fact also remains that the desert is vast, and Geralt may be a literally superhuman tracker, but he's still limited by things like the passage of time and the huge distance.
By now, she's recovered enough from the struggle before that using her powers seems within reach. The fact they're unreliable is... a problem. But something should happen. If she ends up in the ocean again, at least she's not tied up.
Ciri reaches for the magic, screwing her eyes shut tight behind the blindfold and taking a deep breath. It used to be so easy. Like reaching toward a fire to feel its warmth. With the Singularity's interference, she's reaching through thick mud, knowing there's an ember in there somewhere.
She imagines, in as much detail as she can muster, her home in Cadens. The hearth, the sofa, the tables and chairs, Mog's little bed, the scent of fresh-baked bread that mixes with leather and sword oil, the precise color and pattern of the rug. Reaching for that flame. Stepping forward.
But nothing happens.
Breathless, angry and frustrated, feeling her window of opportunity becoming narrower by the moment, Ciri tries the next best thing. While Dean's still rustling and making noise far enough away to afford perhaps a sliver of a moment, she reaches up to shove her blindfold up just enough. And the moment anything is visible, Ciri reaches again for the more familiar door, lunging forward before Dean can catch her--
And vanishing, only to reappear about fifty feet away. There, she rips off her blindfold and does it again, this time reappearing another hundred feet or so in the distance, desperately scanning the horizon for landmarks. And anything she can use as a weapon. ]
no subject
She's gone.
The faintest flicker of movement has his eyes snapping to where she lands some fifty feet away. He pulls out his rifle. Aims it at her.
She's gone again, further this time — a hundred and fifty feet. Fifty yards. Even as a human he could still make this shot easy. As a demon, it's practically fish in a barrel.
There's a crack from his gun as loud as thunder. Two inches to her right, a bullet embeds itself into rock, sending a spray of dust and pebbles exploding around her. Before the dust settles enough to see clearly again, he calls out: )
Next one won't miss! Don't think I won't just blow your brains out to be petty.
( Frankly, if it seems like he can't catch her before she gets away, and it's a choice between her escaping or him killing her and ruining his own plan? Screw it, he'll find a plan B. Demons are nothing but spite and blood. If he can't have her, nobody can. )
Jump again and see if I'm bluffing. Do it. Go on. I wanna see if your daddy cries when he finds the body. Do it.
no subject
Before Ciri can blink out of the way again, the jagged rock outcropping by her head explodes with a thunderous bang, showering her with debris.
This will have to be enough.
The demon thinks this is an escape attempt; it's not. She knows she can't get far enough like this, after her attempt at portalling away for good had failed so thoroughly. No, her main plan was always to leave as many clues for Geralt as possible, and keep relying on him -- considering there's pretty much nothing else she can do.
The threats barely register. Her focus is on her surroundings. Ciri grabs the side of the now-broken large rock, using the sharp edge to slice open her palm, smearing blood along its side. It might look like she stumbled, startled by the gunshot, grabbing the rock for support.
She doesn't respond, but neither does she move again.
As the demon approaches, Ciri palms a rock shard, and at the same time sends Geralt a flurry of disjointed messages containing only descriptions of what she can see around them before Dean puts the blindfold back on. ]