abraxaslogs | ( catch-all) the definite article, you might say

( Tack on another shared trait to their small but growing list of similarities: Dean sucks at being alone. He can't do it, he's never been able to do it. Being alone with himself only makes him darker, makes him worse, makes him dangerous to himself and, occasionally, to other people.

Fortunately for him and everyone around him, he has a constant companion in the form of an ancient alien being — named Castiel, who is not presently around, so this other ancient alien being will do. )

That one... ( He declares proudly; ) Is called Endless Soup, Salad, and Breadsticks, aka the Olive Garden cluster.

( He may have been a little hungry when he named it. )

You can't really see the soup or the salad, but the breadsticks, those are totally right there.

[ Best neither of them stray far from people anytime soon or at the very least, each other, or there might be literal darkness unimaginable brought forth. ~~Oncoming Storm, what.~~ Oh, yes, not to worry, though. See? Happy, affable, perfectly cheerful ancient alien being not at all masking any darker things beneath.

The wonder in the Doctor's eyes at the sight of the stars, though, is immediately replaced by a somewhat blank, open-mouthed stare that lingers ~~much like the expression in his icon~~. ]

Soup, Salad, and Breadsticks? Olive Garden cluster? Here I was about to ask what stories you've made up about them and you're on about food —

[ Witness here a slightly scrunched, judgey face. But then...breadsticks. Has he had those with this face? Does he like them? Would they be good dipped in custard?

— Now look what he's done. ]

Not exactly the tale of Andromeda, Perseus, & Cassiopeia, but...alright, okay. I'll allow it. Possibly. On one condition — what sort of soup, exactly? Important question! The most important of all.

( It's okay, doc, you can judge him. He is extremely used to it. In fact, he tends to surround himself with people who are especially good at judging him, making judgmental faces at him, and loudly declaring how much they're judging him. It's part of the fun.

And here he goes propping up his sword while they talk, balanced over his knees, his right hand deftly plucking out a little stone that he angles ever so carefully at the edge of the blade and drags down — a technique that is totally real and legitimate, probably. )

Obviously it's the potato one, what am I, a heathen? Anyone who says Minestrone's better is a damn liar.

( He points his whetstone at the Doctor for emphasis.

So speaketh the Righteous Man to the Oncoming Storm. )

[ He would judge more harshly on the soup if Dean hadn't chosen wisely. And he would be very loud and very honest about Dean's failings in this regard. No holding back with this one.

Potato is...acceptable, though. Even if it's all very absurd. And the Doctor never does or says anything absurd himself, no always serious except when you shouldn't knowingly be serious. Rule 27. The Doctor holds a hand out now, palm facing the whetstone. ]

Minestrone, no, absolutely not. Never to be mentioned again. Less said, the better. Bad memories, fifteenth century, an argument over scraps of celery and a stale bread roll. You know how it is.

[ He waves a hand idly, dismissively, while eyeing the curiously more prominent sword now. ]

Potato - fine. With the bits on top, though!

[ The bits, you know. The bits, Dean. Very important. The bits that are not bacon but some mysterious 'other' thing. ]

Points for creativity but they're really dreadful names for stars. Do better next time. I'm sure you will! So clever, your kind. And fond of weapons, though a sword is more acceptable than a gun.

[ The Doctor himself is skilled with swords, even if he far prefers never using them, especially with this face. ]

( Fifteenth century earns the stranger a squint, as though that's the first moment this conversation's gotten weird. What the hell-

No time to dwell, though, because the excitable man carries on quite passionately about the bits, and Dean holds his hands up in a passive sort of surrender. With a scoff: )

Obviously the bits.

( You gotta have the bits. If it doesn't have the bits, does it even count?? Hell no, if you ask him.

Anyway, enough about constellation potato soup. There's something faintly wry, something a little knowing in his expression as he studies the man more seriously. It's a soft, very tired look — the kind men wear when they feel old, when they've seen things. )

Not really a weapons guy, huh?

( That's the kind of opinion a man forms in either one of two cases: he hasn't been exposed to them enough, or he's been exposed to them way too much. )

[ Yes, good, all points for the other man as he agrees heartily that the bits are absolutely critical to the success and allowance of potato soup in this strange and wondrous cluster of stars.

Oh, but then the question —

Yes. Weapons. Nasty things. He's seen far too much of what they can do, far too much destruction. Enough of war to last another thousand lifetimes. What he's seen, he would never wish for anyone else to carry, but then there's...something in the other man's eyes. ]

Unless absolutely necessary! And when necessary, I always keep a spoon handy. And I have myself.

[ His words, his actions, his very nature. Does he recognize that can only take him so far? Certainly. He's even been forced on rare occasions to use his sonic screwdriver in defense, but he does loathe ever having to. ]

( Congratulations on putting an absolutely dumb look on Dean's face — confused, mildly uncomprehending, mouth open and brow scrunched up for a long second before he finally manages: )

Sp- I'm sorry, spoon? Like-

( He fumbles for an explanation for a second and then, since it's particularly topical tonight, settles on: )

As in, soup? Spoon.

( Or is this like weird alternate universe terminology for a trebuchet or something?? )

Edited 2023-10-10 04:24 (UTC)

That sort of spoon, yes, you've got it.

[ The Doctor is more than used to strange reactions to...much of what he says and it rarely makes him bat an eye. ]

No preference on embellishments, though I like the ones a bit more angular and less rounded — multi-functional in a pinch! A spoon and an open mind, that'll do me. It has done for a very long time now.

( Long, long, long pause.

At length, Dean's hands come up a few seconds before he actually finds words, gesticulating silently with his palms up; hang on, just- one second. )

Let me- okay. Let me pitch you a hypothetical.

( A pause with an arched eyebrow that sort of reads are you with me on this? )

Let's say- hypothetically- a Sandskid were to burst out of the ground over there and start eating people. Paint me a word picture on what you'd do with that spoon.

( As near as he can figure, it's either going to be the most lame thing he's ever heard, or the most absolute badass — like some kind of one punch of death mystical Monk crap. )

[ It's the sort of hypothetical he's encountered before from others dubious at his insistence on not using weapons. So, he's more than prepared. ]

Some creatures act quickly on base instinct, I'll grant you. We might have seconds only to spare, no time at all for negotiations. If it's eating people, that's where I come in. Naturally, I put myself in front of it with the spoon fully extended.

Starlight or sunlight would reflect off the spoon's surface, generally enough to distract anything at least momentarily. If it's operating at a higher intelligence, it buys me time to talk to it, see if I could reason with it. If nothing else, time enough for anyone around to start running away. I'd run, too, but in the opposite direction, leading the creature with me out as far as we could go. You might say, why would it follow me, well, why not, I'll be the loudest one around! It'll follow just to shut me up.

[ In all of this, it's quite clear he has no fear for himself. He'd only care for the well-being of everyone else around him. ]

A long distance from everyone else, now it's just me and the sandskid, more time to tame it, neutralize it, learn more about it. Every creature has a weakness, a vulnerability. Maybe it's got terrible vision, can't hear, only attracted to movement and vibrations. I can work out how it functions and why it's chosen to eat people suddenly. But if there are no other alternatives, if its true food source hasn't suddenly disappeared and if it absolutely just wants to eat people, then I dig a trap for it in the sand with my spoon, play a song for it against the rocks and lull it to a sleep there's no waking from.

[ Last resort. Always. But beneath the whimsy, the optimistic veneer, the cheerfulness and the hope he clings to, lurks a dangerous man, a darkness very carefully held back for the sake of the universe. ]

( catch-all) the definite article, you might say

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apologies for the delay! i've been down with the rona

never worry! glad you're feeling better

thank ye kindly!!

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