Wᴇʟʟ, I'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜɴ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜɪᴅɪɴ'

[righteously]

Who: Winchester & Co.
When: September
Where: Free Cities, Libertas, & the Horizon
What: Quests, training, or Roadhouse socializing.
Warnings: Suicidal tendencies, alcoholism, other psychological traumas.

Aɴᴅ I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇs I'ᴍ ᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ
Aɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɢᴏᴇs ᴏɴ ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ
Aɴᴅ I'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ sɪʟᴠᴇʀ ᴅᴏʟʟᴀʀ
Bᴜᴛ I'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʟᴇᴛ 'ᴇᴍ ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴍᴇ, ɴᴏ
Nᴏᴛ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʟᴇᴛ 'ᴇᴍ ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪᴅᴇʀ

Comments

[tobeclosetohim]

Dean sends the horse off running for any number of reasons she can put to the guess, and it really is a commentary on all of them. They'd spare animals they have no stake in, where they don't choose the same path for themselves. Hand bracing the crossbow, eyes on Dean, she has the second to catch the flicker of it. The one that starts with that's a special level of insanity right there, one small man, with the whole roll of land and that threatening cloud, and ends up in bone-deep, grim, glinting respect, solid as a diamond, and just as hard to shift.

(A little bit of awe that gets one breath before she's banishing it down hard. No distractions.)
The crossbow gets leveled, with his ability to get a wide arc of movement across her viewpoint.

The ground settles, the dust hangs in the air, and even before it can have the chance to float down, the ground erupts with a monster. One, and then another, and Dean's working one side, and she starts with the center. Not shooting too close to him, considering shot time is longer than a bullet for it to land, but aiming to shoot through the head of whichever one realizes what Dean's doing to its closest neighbor.

Dean finishes off one, and her first is sailing toward the ground dead or not quite yet (he'll be able to tell better than her from here; it's part of why she doesn't like distance all that much either), and she sends another bolt pegged for it still. Safer than sorry. But more heads are pushing up out of the ground and the cloud of dust, all the more angry-vicious for the smell of blood, death screams, and flying viscera.

[righteously]

One small man though he may be, he does have a few things that help balance it out. Maybe baseline, maybe back home, this would've been damn near suicidal. Here, now?

Well, maybe he gets to show off just a little.

The first time one of them gets too close for comfort, he throws out a hand and blasts it back a dozen yards with a flash of white light. It doesn't kill the thing, but it does a good enough job stunning it long enough for him to chop off another thing's head.

The second time he gambles, and it pays off for the first time outside of training — that goddamn shield, that sign he spent forever trying to get right and just couldn't until not too long ago. One of the sand worms bashes itself into the thing over and over, but it doesn't falter. Gives her plenty of time to take aim, fire a bolt, and put it out of its misery.

A tank and a marksman, it's a classic combo. You gotta love it.

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo isn't expecting either thing, but it's becoming a bit normal with Dean and this place—and there's no time more than a vague flicker of annoyance, here and gone, full focus demanded already elsewhere. Because. Powers were sprouting up out of people and things that never had them to begin with all over this world. She's starting to accept that—more of a speed bump, less of a personalized flash of fire to the face.

But. Maybe it delays Jo a second longer than it should. The comically weird, unmovable trainwreck pause of just watching the monster bash its head again and again toward where Dean is standing and, each time, get stopped by a near-invisible wall. It's only the glitch of the record, and then she's reloading and aiming for that one. Rage-confused and single-minded. One shot. Two.

There's a prickle of something she's trying hard not to label this early, about being this far away. Left out of range, like there are still kid wheels. On her horse. Whatever. I want to do more than sit somewhere out here, playing Duck Hunt, safe as houses, the way none of them ever were or are.