abraxaslogs | December Chronicle [ closed ]

Following a long settling in period, Sam Winchester finds himself with many questions (although, perhaps notably, fewer than most). He's seen a bit of what Abraxas has to offer — between the portals and the magic and the varied denizens from across the universe — and for all intents and purposes, he has to admit that it feels a bit like more of the same. Perhaps a slightly different flavor of a familiar dish, but nothing so much as unsettling, which may be the most unsettling thing of all.

Intention to make himself available, he finds an empty table in the tavern area of Mag's where he can spread out a bit. He's gathered some books — a relatively inoffensive looking biographical stack – and perhaps he appears strangely restrained, all six-plus feet of him curled in around a table made for more, but truthfully he's as at home here as anywhere.

At some point, those long legs might kick an opposing chair in front of a passing body, and just once a fumble will have him quickly trying to soak up some water before it ruins one of the books spread on the table.

He's really a sight: long hair and long limbs and long on being by himself as his Hermit designation has appropriately deemed. Still, there's little stopping him from offering tight smiles while newly wrapped in attire more befitting a locale (although still looking very much as if he feels he doesn't belong).

Edited (typo) 2022-11-30 17:00 (UTC)

Sam won't know this, but for a few days after he arrives, Dean's in a better mood than he's been in for weeks. It won't last, but all the same it's a marked improvement over how generally dour his attitude has been since even before the Heralds had their vacation stay in Abraxas.

That jovial mood is practically freakin' Christmas, broadcasted out loud through sheer body language alone, possibly contagious via contact as he claps a hand down on Ciri's shoulder.

"Come on, I got someone I want you to meet."

It's that time again. That semi-regular almost-bimonthly time where new faces become long-timers at Mag's, and considering how many people have been filtering in from Dean's universe as of late, maybe she can connect the dots without an explanation. Not the particulars, not specifically who, but at least that one of those new faces is relevant like Jo and Claire were.

So he drags her away from her lovely family townhouse back to the Sarstina, spends a second scanning the room for the tall son of a bitch with the big face he knows to be holed up there, and then strides on over when he finds the guy doing the Sam-est thing to ever Sam. God help him, he can't quite muscle down the fondness. He's interrupted from his Sam-ing abruptly and unceremoniously with a short whistle to get his attention. There before him stands Dean, and beside him a much smaller, much younger girl, tragically lacking a sword that looks plenty hefty enough to decapitate a man.

"This is who I was tellin' you about," directed toward his brother, and then in turn an explanation for her, "Ciri, this is eight foot tall haircut is my brother Sam."

Edited 2022-12-02 18:44 (UTC)

Well and deep into the middle of a rather short biography, the pierce of the familiar whistle is more the enough to tug Sam right from his task. Try as he might, there's no part of him that can miss the attention sparked to life by Dean's prompting hail; as far back as he can remember it's been one of their most common call to arms.

"I don't know what he's telling you, but don't trust his skills of estimation," he says without missing a beat. He folds the book closed, finally looking up at the two of them. Dean is as expected, of course, but Ciri not so much. At first blush Sam's reminded of Jo — small, obviously armed, deceptively sweet badass status to be determined — but her obvious connections (Dean aside [read: Geralt]) keep the younger brother from such bold acceptance.

Smiling, he gestures to the available chairs without standing. Far be it for him to unseat Dean's appraisal of his height, although Ciri, certainly with some amount of common sense, will probably be fine to assess Sam as over six feet (but not seven or eight).

"Is that 'Siri' with an 'S' or 'Ciri' with a 'C'?" he asks while gathering the books to one side of the table, making room as he can.

Well. Dean is certainly enthusiastic today (a change from his recent lean on his grumpier tendencies, though after the business with the Heralds, she thinks nothing of it). So she allows herself to be dragged out with only a minimum of eye rolling and grumbling about it as they make their way over to the Sarstina.

So this is Dean's brother. They don't look much alike, she thinks, but it wasn't like she'd spent any time at all imagining what Dean's brother might actually look like.

She's automatically filtered out half of what Dean is saying, as usual, so she barely notices the exaggeration. Sam's vague correction, as it were, earns him a small snort of a laugh. With his wordless invitation to sit, she takes a chair and crosses her arms on the edge of the table.

"With a C. It's short for Cirilla." She says as if that word or name are known to either of them, but it's absentminded, sort of automatic in explanation. "Taking notes on all the new people you meet so you don't embarrass yourself forgetting names later?"

Ciri sits, but Dean takes a very important moment to flag down Inej first and gesture at their table — a wordless three drinks pleases that she's able to fluently translate by now considering how much time Dean spends drinking here. Once he's got her nod of understanding, he drags a chair out and settles in.

"She doesn't know about Siri with an S yet," he volunteers absently, digging around in his bag for his own journal. "Don't tell her. I'm trying to figure out a way to slow-burn that one in."

In the process of responding, Sam's cut short as Dean comments right on, another string of thoughts that maybe should have been kept in his brother's head instead. Sparing the other man a look — What the Hell is wrong with you? – he adds an emphatic shake of his head and then laughs awkwardly as he returns his attention to Ciri.

"It doesn't hurt to be accurate," he notes, although she isn't incorrect about his intentions, either. Sam, for his own part, tends to avoid foibles like that where he can. Dean, on the other hand, probably has seven nicknames for Ciri already (but won't ever forget her name even if he'll rarely use it properly).

"So, what's Dean told you about me?" It's well shy of blunt, not forceful by any means, proffered with a thin smile that he hides behind a sip of water he's been nursing for hours. Sam isn't looking to (purposefully) make enemies of his brother's friends, but he'd also learned some time back that they don't need to share the same sentiments about people.

Ciri shoots Dean a look -- a familiar one, pointed and vaguely annoyed but not with any real rancor behind it. She rolls her eyes and very deliberately ignores Dean, in a way that feels rather practiced by now. At least he has the decency to order drinks while spouting bullshit.

"Oh, you know. This and that. Just that he's got a brother, also a hunter. Pain in the ass as all brothers are." She smiles, a brief flash of teeth. "Obviously missed you like crazy. Couldn't wait to show you off as soon as you appeared."

Sam's not unimpressed by the reaction, guessing by now that Ciri must have known Dean for a while to have advanced so confidently towards the stage where she shoots him down effortlessly. In this case, he knows gentle ribbing when he sees it, and being exactly the kind of person that believes his brother needs his ego checked more than occasionally, he only scoffs. Even if he did feel compelled to charge to Dean's favor, he knows well enough that his brother doesn't need it.

"Fascinating stuff. People were thrilled to hear it, I'm sure," he muses quietly, trying for his own part to imagine how things would have come up had he arrived first instead of Dean. Would Sam have shared the same (or more) about his brother? Would Ciri still be at the table? Time will tell one way or another, at least in part, Sam figures, and while he's admittedly wary, he's not feeling any of the alarming signals he'd been faced with when he'd made the connections to (and between) those sitting at his table, proverbial or otherwise. If anything, Dean's improved mood is driving that cursory acceptance and he presses on.

"Are you a student?" He asks, but he'd noted the weapon on her and suspects her role to be similar to Dean's, but some consideration of the current society says she could be doing both adventuring and learning.

"A what?" Ciri blurts, with clear surprise. The question comes completely out of nowhere for her, and she gives Sam an askance look, confused by the assumption.

"No. What kind of student did you think I was?"

A glance at Dean.

"...his?"

Sam asks are you a student, and Dean's gentle snort is maybe slightly audible. Laughing at the prospect, at the concept — her, Ciri, doing the whole Stanford thing, settling in with flash cards studying her ass off about magical algebra or whatever. It's probably a rude thing to laugh about, and karma comes for him swiftly. She says his so skeptically, his head whips up and he shoots her an affronted look.

"I could be a teacher," defensively; how dare you scoff. "I'm a great teacher."

Left looking between the two, Sam sits on his uncertainty while their scene plays out. He lifts both hands when a moment allows him and he offers what can only be an earnest smile.

"I don't see why you couldn't be a student of whatever," he says, noting Ciri, "Or why you couldn't be a teacher," Sam adds, gesturing to his brother. Granted, classes for all involved would vary greatly — of that he's certain — and Sam probably wouldn't be taking Dean's class (for crossover reasons, he tells himself) but it doesn't seem out of the ordinary.

"Isn't the university a pretty large draw? I assumed people would be taking advantage of that," Sam explains, hoping his reasoning isn't too elementary for Ciri's liking. "I know I'm planning to see what they have to offer." He doesn't say as much, but there's no family business here to maintain, although there's no chance Sam won't be involved in whatever the others embroil themselves. Still, his curiosity won't be sated until he gives it proper consideration.

"Hm." She looks mildly surprised by this, like she hadn't thought of it before. "I suppose it would be. Most of my interaction with the university are to bring them specimens, though."

Her head tips curiously.

"What kind of classes are you looking to take?"

Specimens in its use strikes Sam's interest and he notes for himself to look into that later, perhaps specifically to see a little more of what that might entail. What sort of specimen are being collected and for what use? He could ask Ciri, he figures — have the answer immediately — but opts instead to take on her question.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "It's more for the sake of my curiosity, but I wouldn't say no to the education track if it falls into my lap."

Shifting, Sam's attention wanes and he glances around them before adding, "Of course, that's all secondary to helping out. If there's time." He couldn't abandon Dean, couldn't make that decision again even if urged to do so. (That's the feeling this week, at least.) And so he shrugs. It's nice to feel the guise of options for once, even if he's not saying as much.

It's more for the sake of my curiosity.

Dean's trying to give them a little space to chat among themselves, let them get to know each other, get off on the right foot — which means stepping out of the conversational spotlight for the most part.

Despite that, he can't quite muffle his quiet scoff of, "Pff, nerd."

Quietly, under his breath, and followed quickly by a drink. Don't mind him.

"...right."

Ciri glances over at Dean's noise, then looks back up at Sam, considering him for a long moment before taking an equally long drink. She lets the silence linger for a few seconds, then finally announces, with her cup thudding back onto the tabletop, "You're nothing like what I imagined Dean's brother might be."

Don't mind him just lowering his drink a little to squint at her, like what's that supposed to mean?

(There isn't much heat behind it. He knows him and his brother are night and day in a lot of ways. It's mostly for The Dramatique.)

Amusement plays on Sam's lips and he tips a shoulder upward in a shrug. "It's the height, isn't it? And the hair. And school thing," he points out, unceasingly merciless at times when it comes to this sort of rhetoric.

For Sam, who was essentially raised by Dean, there isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't feel the lessons of a lifetime together coming through him in recognizable patterns of actions and thoughts (even if he doesn't act on them). At the heart of him is the heart of Dean. He was built that way, side-by-side with a true catalyst of good, the driving force, the magnetic pull that keeps them together. Even at his worst, Dean always fights. Sam should be so lucky.

"We've actually got a lot in common," he finally says, as if snapped out of a dream, perhaps even a hair over-obvious in saying as much. Although he doesn't explain further, there's no doubt (today) in Sam's mind about the marks they share.

Gesturing openly, he notes Ciri while sitting up some in his seat. Signaling his interest, he says, "Why don't you tell me a little bit about you. Dean mentioned you're not alone here?" The lilt of his question is less because Dean directly said as much and more because it's something that's been gleaned or otherwise overheard and it hasn't particularly felt like a secret.

Ciri isn't particularly used to this sort of interview-style formal introduction. She bears with it because Dean is a friend -- an ally, and Geralt's friend as well, and someone important to Jo. But she feels markedly awkward, and a little annoyed, and it may show slightly in the tight pull of her lips and the set of her shoulders. She leans back in her chair, tossing back the rest of her drink with formidable speed and surety. Then waves at a passing serving boy for another.

"Been here about a year and a half now. I hunt monsters, take the occasional job as a guard and monster deterrent. Dean mentioned you know a bit about that too."

Despite the leading question, she doesn't really elaborate on what Dean might've meant by her not being alone here. What is she supposed to say? Start elaborating on who is from her world, who she lives with, who her friends are? It seems rather ridiculous.

Ciri shoots Dean a look.

What the hell are we doing here?

December Chronicle [ closed ]

Cadens / Mag's [ closed ]

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