kickingand: (pic#10039957)
Dean Winchester ([personal profile] kickingand) wrote in [community profile] gameofmana2016-09-16 01:37 pm

i've been up and down in prison

Who: Dean Winchester & YOUUU
What: waking up at Home and being confused out of his mind
Where: Home!
When: morning sometime
Other: talk of Hell & not overly graphic mentions of torture. also, prose or brackets are welcome!


Dean doesn't have a clue as to where he is. Granted, he doesn't have a clue as to what's going on altogether, but that would be said no matter where it was he was waking up. Because the thing is, he isn't supposed to be here. A thing that likely everyone said upon waking up here, but Dean isn't supposed to be anywhere but Hell. It's a thing he can't comprehend as he wakes up with a start and looks around to find himself not on the rack. The lack of shrill screams in the distance, the dank nonexistent smells wrecking havoc through his brain, making it impossible to do anything but shudder with anticipation of what tool was going to be used today to pry body parts from his soul, over and over and over--

Giving his head a shake, the place he is now is so opposite of what he's endure for the past years that it's nearly startling. It's beyond startling actually, and Dean doesn't know what to do about it when all he can think is he doesn't deserve it. This place is practically happy and somehow blossoms with an easiness that he can't comprehend, his stomach twisting with confusion and ultimately a sheer disorientation that he's struggling his way through. He hardly knows how to move let alone how to think his way through this and he tries to find his voice to shout for the existence of anyone else here. But it clams up in his throat, refusing to puff out from between his lips and instead makes him want to curl up that much more. It's terrifying and soft all at once and he's rejecting it aggressively, trying to butt himself up against the nearest wall and hide, wondering if this is a new breed of torture. Let him see something happy for two seconds before he's dragged back to the reality that is Hell, brutally laughed in the face by Alistair before the torture continues. A psychological thing, maybe.

He doesn't know.

But eventually, he begins to move.

Slowly, he pushes himself out of the bed, taking one cautious step at at time, moving forward and ducking around corners, peering around the edges of the spacious room and trying to adjust to everything he's seeing. Which unto itself is still just weird - if anything, he should've woken up in a dank motel room. His grave maybe. And some part of his mind wonders if he's been shot up to Heaven finally, in some sort of weird Brazil-esque filing error, but that's just ridiculous.

He's supposed to be in Hell. So what the fuck is going on.

Continuing to move, Dean soon finds himself on the stairway leading downwards, though he glances up for a moment and stares, before deciding that down is best way for now. It isn't as if any of this is truly ominous apart from the fact that he doesn't know why he's here altogether but he has to keep moving, try to figure out what's going on, understand this as best as he can before he finds himself getting tugged straight back to the one place he's actually supposed to be.

"The fuck is this-"

Rough words are finally pulled from his throat, scratchy and hard and he steps even further down, slow going as he tries to take it all in. He just wants to know where he is and why, maybe even find someone here. Or maybe he just wants to be alone for a minute, relish in the lack of pain and death fleeing across his vision, the wholeness of his body and the feeling of his limbs stretching out. It's all odd sensations after too long on the rack, at the hands of demons, souls at the hands of him, and he grit his teeth for a moment, squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think before he keeps going, pushing himself forward, and finally gives a shout, sounding distant to his own ears.

"-- Anyone here?"
a_vandal: (when I'm gone)

[personal profile] a_vandal 2016-09-16 10:50 pm (UTC)(link)
"The world is called Fa'Diel, from what I could pick up. This is a tree, where the collection of us has been dumped. So far, at least." The sort of sing-song cadence of her speech is still there, but the elf is trying to enunciate a bit more. Had Dean shown up and been with his brother when Avandrel had met Sam, well. Her reception might have been less warm. But fate is a fickle thing.

"'Us' is mostly humans like you, though we've a wolf-mannish sort, a centaur, an orc, a blue girl with rainbow hair, and myself. Probably more." Avandrel hasn't met everyone at Home, after all, so now she can only speculate. But with how jumpy this fellow is, a warning is probably good. She doesn't know about day-glo orange jackets that scream 'don't shoot me'. They don't have those on her world.

Her next gesture is wordless; but what she pulls from a pouch at her belt is very clearly a flask, and she offers it over. Within it is probably rot-gut whiskey--Avandrel isn't a classy drinker--but considering it's for her own consumption, likely safe.

"Can't tell you what I don't know more of, but there's a village about half an hour from here, called Domina. If that helps. It didn't me, sad to say." The rogue shrugged at that, then. "Avandrel Amberspike, at your service. Such as it is, eh?"
a_vandal: (Default)

[personal profile] a_vandal 2016-09-17 03:55 pm (UTC)(link)
He's talking strangeness, and it's more than a little difficult to follow. What is a 'Disnee land'? She has no clue, and her brows furrow, just a bit. But with how agitated he seems (understandable, though Avandrel has absolutely no clue what he's been through, what Dean's dealing with here), she doesn't let the frowny face continue. This whole thing is absolutely ridiculous. That much, she knows. It's been ridiculous for the month or so she's been here, as well.

"Yes," she says, to his 'off planet Earth entirely' comment. "I do not know much of Earth (certainly Sam has told her some things), but the only planets I know are Azeroth and Draenor, and we are not on those, either."

And then, at his introduction, her eyes narrow slightly, once again. Not angrily, but more focused. Now, he definitely has her attention.

"Like Sam Winchester?" Because if so, he'll be following her as she yells his brother's name. Really, she wasn't entirely unaware that Sam had been looking for someone--he is a private sort, though, and he hadn't particularly put it forth to her. Still, for all her claims that she's not that bright, Avandrel can put two and two together here to make four.

"He is here, and safe. We'll just have to find him for you now, eh? Gotta be around here someplace."
a_vandal: (Default)

[personal profile] a_vandal 2016-09-18 03:56 pm (UTC)(link)
"Here. Aye, but out hunting. 'Tis his turn today, and he didn't want me following." Why, she couldn't say, but she respected Sam and his wishes--like she respected few others, either here or back on Azeroth. Then again, he'd earned it.

Maybe he had just wanted time alone. Fine by her.

At Dean's expression--the 'have you seen him?'--the elf couldn't help but laugh. Especially since, compared to Sam, she's short. At least she could ask him to get things off the high shelves, right?

"Aye. Long as I have, a month's time or so, give or take. 'Least how I reckon time, it's been a month." Not that Avandrel would have been happy to find it had been longer--there's a burgeoning invasion back home, and her shivs hungered for demon blood. That was neither here nor there, though.

"We'll find him. You know him, gods know with what he's said about himself, if yer family--" because she can tell--"ya can prob'ly track him well enough, aye?" Watching his face. Watching that frayed focus, with a bit of a frown playing around her lips.

"Ye ain't well though, are you, cull?" Dean. She should call him Dean, but old habits die hard. Still, she knows enough about the bad things to know her rogue cant or sing-song might throw him right back into the bad times. So she forces herself to ease off that. She doesn't know details, but Azeroth isn't a pretty, kind place, most days. "Dean. What happened to you, before ye came here? Might want to clear the air, before we find Sam."

This way if there's shit he wants, or needs, to hide, there's a chance it'll come easier. And gods know there's always that flask she's still holding. Ah, alcohol. Cause and cure of life's problems. Or at least a panacea to help cure what ails one. What's foremost in Avandrel's mind at the moment, however, is not setting off the potential powder keg standing before her with a joke on his lips.
a_vandal: (Default)

[personal profile] a_vandal 2016-10-01 06:57 pm (UTC)(link)
Stubborn and unwilling to press any further. Man, if that is not her own attitude being shoved right back into her face (albeit deservingly, really), Avandrel does not know what is.

She can't get angry. She wants to, sure, but the Light or the moon goddess or whatever other god of Azeroth or beyond you wanted to name? She knows damn well she's guilty of doing the same thing, and so she really can't. She's a hypocrite at other times, so she can't deny it. So she saved Dean the scourge of her tongue for that.

"If you decide you want to retract that later, I'll listen. And it won't go past me." Meaning she won't rat out to your brother the things you don't want told. And for the moment, she makes a calculated decision, and offers that flask he's eyeing so avariciously to Dean.

"Don't go hard, cully, but I still think you need it worse than I." Avandrel's positive that Dean's smart enough not to go hard, especially if they're going after Sam now (because she's not leaving him alone, especially if he belongs to Sam like she thinks he does). But she's going to give him the warning anyway. Even if it ends up pissing the man off.