maskormenacelogs | and the demons gonna hate

Entry tags:

and the demons gonna hate

WHO: Dean AND Sam, Jeff, Lucifer, and ANYONE ELSE!
WHERE: around.
WHEN: over the course of the next few days
WHAT: hanging around, making frenemies
WARNINGS: demon dean is his own bag of warnings. will update if anything specific.

ONE. & Sam (Heropa #003)

[ As much as Dean didn't altogether want to, he figured it might as well behoove him to check out his so-called place of residence. Which was comical to begin with - being offered housing straight out of the blue for what? Being a hero? Being the good guy? Wasn't gonna happen - Dean wasn't into it. Maybe once upon a time he would've fallen all over himself for a house with a picket white fence but not this time, not any more. He'd handed over that game weeks ago and now here he was, ol' black eyes, uninterested in being anything more than exactly what he was.

And now without Crowley in tow, meant a whole hell of a lot more.

It didn't imply in the slightest that he'd be staying there, or even spending the slightest lick of time in his brand new house apart from using and abusing the bed, but it implied he had somewhere to sleep (or fuck) if he so chose to. Not that there likely weren't a myriad of other places as well, opportunities at every corner of this new globe, but he'd been handed one on a silver platter and so what would be the point if he didn't at least go look?

Moseying his way along the streets, seemingly minding his own business, Dean finally rolled his eyes up towards the government housing before shrugging his shoulders and heading his way on in. And really, it was much to his chagrin that upon arriving, he just happened to find Sam. The last person on his Most Wanted List. He wasn't upset so much as he was annoyed, his expression immediately flatlining into unamusement, his head cocking slightly as he surveyed the scene in front of him, trying to assess if he should simply blow it off and turn back around, or-- ]

Have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. [ yes, you're toto, sam. dwi. ]

TWO. & Jeff

[ Dealing with Sam required enough of its own bag of tricks so that by the time the whole situation was over and done with, Dean needed more than a few drinks. More like a couple hundred drinks. Meant that the first thing he had to do was find somewhere to acquire them, and walking the city streets of Heropa, Dean made his way into the first bar that became available, some place that wasn't overly skeezy but still rang of easy booze and even easier women. He didn't want to have to put up any kind of a fight to earn himself some entertainment and free flowing whiskey and so he sat himself at the edge of the bar, immediately waving over the bartender and making with the first bottle of whiskey he could point to.

Surveying the scene as he finally settled in, Dean let his gaze wash over the patons, looking from the occasional woman that flashed him a look to the next, never lingering so much as checking out his options. A demon's gotta make good on his options before he finally settles down after all. Except the thing was, he wasn't entirely clueless, and the guy off to the side who kept staring him down, that 'i've seen you somewhere before' look? Was finally beginning to earn his attention and Dean leaned forward, looking back with mild interest, remaining just this side of silent.

THREE. & Lucy

[ Hungover was a perfectly acceptable time to attend church, right?

Right.

Sunglasses perched precariously on his nose, new information in hand, Dean made his way to Miami with the full intention of hearing Lucifer preach. It wasn't as if he really wanted to, no, but he did want to make a statement. Something that he should've made to Crowley by far sooner, something that sang of the fact that he wasn't in this to be used up and worn out like some family pet. He might've been a Knight of Hell, but he had no interested in being used as one as just because Lucifer was here didn't change that fact. No, Dean didn't have any interest in following orders and maybe if he got there first, he could impress upon that fact through sheer prowess.

Making his way through Lucifer's church, he didn't exactly ease his way into the chapel quietly, pushing open the doors in the back and standing still, lifting his chin as he looked over the heads that turned towards him, training his gaze onto the archangel he hadn't seen in oh, five years now. The archangel that had gotten himself caged back up, where he was meant to be. If he were a different man, it would've been a horrifying, terrifying sight, but it wasn't. No, instead it just was what it was, a thing that Dean was going to have to deal with now. At least once Lucifer was done prattling on about nothing. ]

FOUR. & You (a bar somewhere with whiskey)

[ Dean will be at bar's from here to there. No really, pick a city, pick a place, Dean will probably be drinking whiskey there as soon as night falls.

And most of all? He'll be singing really bad karaoke. Would you like to compliment him on his singing skills? Go for it, because they're absolutely atrocious. Which is all a particularly not-so-fancy way of saying that he's basically going to be busy living on as much whiskey as he can consume while not getting drunk at all, which you're also more than welcome to notice. Basically, Dean is going to continue living the life he was leading at home, sequestering himself in the happiness that is whiskey and cheap women heaven.

Meet him there or be square.]

FIVE. & You (wildcard)

[ Have somewhere else you'd like to run into Dean? Want to get into a fistfight while he's grumbling to himself walking down the street? Want me to write you the first starter that comes to mind? Shoot me a PM! I'd be all for starting just about anything, and i'll be tossing other prompts into the comment section. ]

Threaded | Flat

[ Lucifer's church really was... prominent. To say the least. Which was a powerful kind of disconcerting and had Dean been more of himself, he would have found it atrocious. He would've been horrified, knocked off his feet, running through the streets quizzing people on just how far off the rocker they'd fallen to let an archangel like Lucifer find his way to power amongst the believers. It would've been terrifying and Dean would've chased down every person that rose from the pew's, demanding that they find somewhere else to worship because how could anyone even imagine offering a creature like Lucifer their holier than thou attitudes.

But as it stood, Dean only cared about being used himself, about Lucifer trying to niggle his way under his skin and take advantage of the exact type of demon he'd become. As it stood, he was meandering his way through Lucifer's church, observing what he could, taking in the sights and the sounds and the worker bees, saying little to anyone. Mostly, he was quietly curious, trying to figure out why anyone would even choose to pray under such a merciless creature, why anyone would be stupid enough to pray under the first thing they saw as holy, no matter the repercussions it might cause.

Was nobody really picketing this place? It was kind of astonishing. Dean was left shaking his head, watching another few people filter into the church before picking up his voice just loud enough to be overheard - ] Some kinda asshole, isn't he?

[ Let's start a biblical discussion. ]

[ Lucifer was in mid-speech when the rudest thing happened. Someone flung open the doors of his church and then just stood there. Those doors were closed during morning service for a reason, thank you very much. He hated to be interrupted, it was as though someone had absolutely no respect. He faltered, however, when he raised his head to look. The darkness clinging to Dean's soul literally lunged into the bright space, filled it, and for a moment he tripped right over his tongue, mid-sentence. ]

That was really when Heaven went...under. Underwhelming. Heaven is underwhelming.

[ Great. Nice. Smooth.

Lucifer raised his hand, beckoning toward one of his speakers on the sideline to replace him. No way was he going to carry on with his whole spiel when something so very interesting was standing no more than eighty yards away from him. Dean Winchester. Well. What had once been Dean Winchester. He was dead now. As a doornail, if doornails could become demons. And that was the Mark on his arm. The Mark, with its darkness trying to draw him in.

Dean Winchester. Good Dad. Look at him. What a mess! What a delicious mess.

So now, Lucifer stepped down, though he didn't approach the demon right away. He waited until his followers were thundering away in a rousing chorus of "Let the Right One In"--which was sort of a whole horror story of angel possession stuff, before he flickered away, landing again lightly behind Dean. ]

If you've come to fight me, I'm afraid even that curse of yours won't help cut through my protective magic, no matter how cathartic I'm sure it would feel.

( being called a hero is one thing; there have been times in the past in which both he and dean have been called as much, for saving families and loved ones from the threats of the supernatural, the demonic, the like, but it's another thing entirely to get free housing out of it, something that he's already having a hard time wrapping his head around. ( granted, he's been a little confused since he'd first arrived, and it doesn't look like that's going to change anytime soon, so he might as well take it with the proverbial grain of salt and make do with what he's been given. )

so, he'd gone to check out the place. nearly as soon as he'd been able, and while he thinks it might have been too much to think that he would be housed alone, when the door opens and that familiar body walks through, he's almost positive he stops breathing.

( he's already spent so much time looking for him, following any and every lead he could get his hands on, using questionable means to get answers that he wouldn't have been able to get otherwise – and here he is, in the flesh, just as easily as if he'd sent up some unknown signal to call him here. like it was nothing. )

sam straightens to his full height, rolling his shoulders back and squaring them, the breath that he's been trying to force down into his lungs catching in the back of his throat and all but punching back out of him in an audible sigh. his expression is first bewildered, surprised, and then it melts into something inexplicable as his heart squeezes behind his ribs, the blood draining from his face like he's just seen a ghost.

for how quickly dean had disappeared, he might as well have.

he clears his throat, shoves his hands into his pockets. you can do this, sam. )

Yeah, I kinda figured that out already. ( what in the world do you even say to your brother when he's been missing for weeks, when he doesn't seem to care, when nothing seems to matter? )

[ The streets of Heropa were a dastardly place.

Alright, not really. But Dean had a habit, now, of starting fights just about wherever he went. It was by far easier inside the institution that was a sleazy ass bar, but that didn't change too terribly much no matter where Dean went, if only because he brought the violence with him. The predisposition to see anger and hate anywhere and everywhere, no matter the cause. It spurned him on, watching it in others, acting upon it himself, wishing he could be a part of it for one second just to ebb the constant need to clock someone upside the head and feel better.

That didn't mean he was incapable of going a few seconds without starting something. Sort of. He still had a good amount of sightseeing to do, figuring out why he was here and what here was exactly. It wasn't as if other universes had a great dire need for demons after all, and Dean was sure he'd been perfectly fine where he was. Still, trying not to think too heavily on anything at all moment, Dean found himself turned around by rising voices in the street, turning and coming upon two men starting up on Import politics.

At which point, Dean really does have to get up and involved, just for the thrill of it. Because why the hell not? ] Hey, not all of us are freaks of nature.

[ And that would be a fist coming for his face. Bring it. ]

[ Behind the bar of the dingy dive bar is a big, burly guy in a lumberjack red flannel shirt and tattered jeans who's wiping out a wet beer glass with a dishcloth. The fed-up look on his hard, world-weary face might have something to do with the fact that he's had it up to here with having to deal with people all night (because Joel is not, at all, a people person, and now the bar is approaching closing time, he's the only person left to serve drinks), but it also probably has a lot to do with that asshole who keeps hogging the karaoke machine with shitty music and shitty singing.

This big, burly guy is, of course, the same guy who's been serving Karaoke Asshole drinks most of the night, and when Karaoke Asshole finally takes an intermission and returns to the bar, Joel remains rooted on the spot behind the bar, still wiping out the beer glass with the flat, fed-up look on his face now directed straight at Karaoke Asshole.

Not even gonna ask what he wants. Just gonna stare at the guy with barely contained irritation as he thumps down the now dry beer glass and picks up another wet glass to wipe. ]

There was, tragically, no karaoke at this bar. What it lacked in that it made up for in a bar tender that didn't particularly give a shit about collecting the tab from an attractive looking man, no matter how many whiskeys he downed. It was James March's hotel, she just haunted it. Money wasn't anything compared to a good conversation.

Sally slides a whiskey across the bar to the guy and leans one elbow on the counter, cupping her chin as she took him in.

"Celebrating or mourning?"

[ This was a bar that Bela knew very well (probably too well by this point) and tonight, she felt compelled to sit at a dingy booth with even dingier lights and drink.

The last time she was here, there wasn't a karaoke machine: why was there a karaoke machine? No one in this damn place would use such a thing. They'd get laughed out of the bar. So imagine Bela's surprise when she saw an oh-so familiar person get up to the stage to perform what she guessed was going to be some awful classic rock song.

When Dean is finished, she gives him a round of applause. Complete with a sarcastic expression. ]

That was terrible.

[ Karaoke night? Count her in. Rose could hardly refuse such a potentially fun time. It'll be nice to take her mind off, well, everything. Another world hop and a potentially brand new life is a lot to take in.

She strolls into the bar just as some mook is Hey, it's make out man! ... Yeah, so, she never actually learned his name therefore that's become his unofficial title for Rose. It's also how she'll be referring to him mentally from now on. What with this being a super hero themed world and all, she thought 'make out man' was pretty clever. Though maybe she should think of something a bit more dignified.

Naaaahhhh. ]

That was the lamest attempt at karaoke I've ever seen.

[ Booooo. For shame, sir. For shame. And nevermind the fact that she's smiling. It was so awful it was funny, okay? ]

[Rincewind is more of a beer and wine man himself - beer specifically, tonight - but he can respect someone with a taste for liquor. Especially when that someone is rather amusing to watch when they try their hand at karaoke.

Rincewind is here by himself tonight, and he's chosen this bar specifically because he knows it's one where he'll be left alone, even despite the pointed hat and red robes pointing him out as an imPort. He knows he'll get left alone, because it was only a month prior that his magical, murderous Luggage chased a rather obnoxious man and his friends out so well that the man lost his pants to it in the process. Word like that travels fast. So, even with said Luggage off doing gods-knows-what to gods-knew-who far away from here, Rincewind doubts he'll find any trouble. He's here for beer, for company he doesn't have to actually talk to, and currently to watch an amusing karaoke singer.

He even tells the bartender to send Dean a drink on him, once the colored, dancing lights start to dim and the man's last song ends. It seems an appropriate tip for good entertainment. Should Dean look his way, he'll lift his beer towards him in cheers.]

[Turns out that Jeff's idea of a quiet drink or five never really turns out to be all the quiet. If it's not women, it's fans, and if it's not fans it's familiar faces keeping his attention. He's not surprised to see an imPort in the area, but the fact it's a familiar face catches him by repressed surprise, staring unashamedly like Jeff's waiting to be recognised in return.]

Dean, right? [That staring that's being done in return in just begging for some sort of comment to be made, even if Jeff's somewhat unsure of what tone he should be going for. If this guy recognises him, he may have to tread carefully, but fuck it, he can worry about that when it gets to it. It's not like they've ever talked much anyway.]

Threaded | Flat

& Crane

3, obviously

let's see how many heartbroken icons i have and can abuse.

& Daisy

Four!