( He gets restless sometimes. It's not that he hates having a place to hang his hat, roots put down, somewhere to call his, it's just... he's used to traveling. Used to taking days or weeks out on the road, new sights, new places, new faces. His trips out to the desert and down the roads only accomplish so much. Horseback ain't a treat, and it's not like he makes it to new cities anymore.
Rolling through the Horizon is the next best thing. People have some wild crap floating around in here, and thanks to his mental influence he's able to manifest temporary, unobtrusive roads through them upon which too drive his car.
He wanders. He explores.
And when he rolls up on a big ass mountain castle, it takes him a second to connect the dots between what he's seeing and who it must belong to. He'd been tempted to keep on moving past — right up until it pings in his brain, and curiosity drives him toward a detour.
He parks outside of the busted gate. The Impala's door squeaks as it opens, the metal gently protesting the cold. He makes his way through the snow at a slow amble, his layers not quite cutting it for the weather. It's fine. He'll survive.
One of the first thing he clocks about the place is its most apparent sign of life, the horse hanging out at the stables. It's there he heads first, swinging in to give the girl a quiet greeting and rub along the mane. )
Way less of a douchebag than my girl, huh?
( He mumbles companionably to the mare, like he's letting her in on an inside joke. )
Fᴇᴇʟs ʟɪᴋᴇ I'ᴍ ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋɪɴ' ᴏɴ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ's ᴅᴏᴏʀ
Rolling through the Horizon is the next best thing. People have some wild crap floating around in here, and thanks to his mental influence he's able to manifest temporary, unobtrusive roads through them upon which too drive his car.
He wanders. He explores.
And when he rolls up on a big ass mountain castle, it takes him a second to connect the dots between what he's seeing and who it must belong to. He'd been tempted to keep on moving past — right up until it pings in his brain, and curiosity drives him toward a detour.
He parks outside of the busted gate. The Impala's door squeaks as it opens, the metal gently protesting the cold. He makes his way through the snow at a slow amble, his layers not quite cutting it for the weather. It's fine. He'll survive.
One of the first thing he clocks about the place is its most apparent sign of life, the horse hanging out at the stables. It's there he heads first, swinging in to give the girl a quiet greeting and rub along the mane. )
Way less of a douchebag than my girl, huh?
( He mumbles companionably to the mare, like he's letting her in on an inside joke. )
Wouldn't happen to give lessons, would you?