Sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɢᴏ → ( ᴏᴘᴇɴ )

[righteously]

WHO: Dean Winchester
WHAT: catch-all with open prompts; the mark of cain is beginning to take a toll on Dean, resulting in some violent altercations and moodiness. also included: a quick trip to the naked werewolf baths.
WHEN: november-december
WHERE: cadens, nocwich, horizon
WARNING: alcoholism, corruption, violence, brutality, suicidal ideation, nudity

Tʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ ᴄᴀʟᴍ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀᴍ
I ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ's ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ғᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ

Comments

[theidlemaiden]

[ Hilda is nothing short of an impossible force when she wants to be.

She’ll follow his lead, settling into the seat across from him where she can properly take a good look at him now that she isn’t trying to stop him from starting a tavern fight. There’s plenty of assumptions people can make based on someone’s appearance alone but it’s hard for Hilda to discern much based on how he’s dressed. ]

One year? [ There’s a flicker of surprise that stretches across her face before she sighs dramatically cradling her chin in her hands. ] And here I was thinking that a few weeks felt like a long time. Do you like it here? And more importantly – is everyone this on edge when it comes to us?

[righteously]

( He lifts his eyes to Inej behind the bar. Gives her a little raise of the hand, a wordless signal. She nods, and he returns his attention back to Hilda. In a few minutes, she'll slide by and unobtrusively drop off a drink for him — all signs pointing to him being a real level of regular.

It's been a long while, sister. A long friggin' while.

He considers the question. Sways to one side in thought, then settles straight again. )

I've been to worse places. ( It's no 21st century poolside stay at the Ritz Carlton, but it's also not Hell, or Purgatory. Hell, half the time it's more peaceful and easier to live here than it is back home on a normal week. ) As far as the touchy patrons go...

( A brand he does not consider himself, despite being the picture beside the phrase in the damn dictionary tonight. )

Not usually. It's gotten worse since the war started, and then the whole... Heralds touching down thing. People are getting tense.

[theidlemaiden]

[ The ‘worse places’ bit doesn’t go unnoticed but she silently files it away for information that may or may not be useful later on down the line. She offers a small, kind smile to the young woman that drops off his drink before turning to look at him again.

It’s okay, Dean she doesn’t consider you a touchy patron. At most the only impression she’s getting of him is that he’s a guy a little rough around the edges but well meaning. ]

Heralds? Are those people or things?

[ She doesn’t recall hearing that particular term in her time here. ]

[righteously]

( A little rougher every passing day, but that well-meaning thing will hold true for a while longer yet. Right up until he snaps for good, right up until he isn't really Dean Winchester anymore.

He exhales thoughtfully, scrubs a hand over the five-o'clock shadow he's let grow longer than he'd normally fastidiously trim. )

Things. Sort of. They were, uh... well, to tell you the truth I don't think we know for sure, but we think they were a group of old gods. They- woke up, I guess, a couple weeks back. It was like a diet Old Testament, crap went crazy, people were acting nuts, crops started dying, the dead rose up. It wasn't exactly a party.

[theidlemaiden]

[ She's never heard of the Old Testament, but the church in Fodlan definitely had texts describing similar things. It's worrying to say the least. ]

What kind of gods bring back the dead?

[ The food arrives just in time for her protest and she offers another smile before not-so-subtly pushing a little closer to Dean. ]

That's not really fair of them to blame us for something like that. [ A pause. ] Unless it did have something to do with the Summoned.

[righteously]

( What kind of gods bring back the dead; his answer is a soft snort, barely audible. On the heels of it, directed mostly at himself, )

You'd be surprised.

( But spilling his life story and career history isn't really the point of the conversation, so he plows on ahead. )

We don't know. Truth be told, we're kind of flying by the seat of our pants here. Could've been the Summoned, could've been someone poking the big magic rock, could've been someone sacrificing goats to Satan over in Solvunn, we got no way of knowing. Matters less what caused it, though, and more... it seemed to do weird crap to the Summoned specifically. Made us act different, gave us the ability to... do crap. Temporarily.