ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛᴇᴏᴜs ᴍᴀɴ ( ᴊᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ ᴀɴᴋʟᴇs ) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
righteously) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
meadowlarklogs2020-07-01 03:16 pm
righteously) wrote in meadowlarklogs2020-07-01 03:16 pm
Entry tags:
( open / closed ) old black water, keep on rolling
WHO: Dean & Others
WHERE: Various
WHEN: OOC July, IC May/June
WHAT: Catch-All
NOTES OR WARNINGS: adult language, violence, alcoholism.
pretend cut text is actually a video
WHERE: Various
WHEN: OOC July, IC May/June
WHAT: Catch-All
NOTES OR WARNINGS: adult language, violence, alcoholism.
pretend cut text is actually a video
ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ → ᴛᴏɴʏ | ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ sʜᴀʀᴇ
All things feel dark, but in dreams the lighting doesn't so much matter. There are clusters of trees forward and backward for miles. To the left, things change form and color to muted, off-centered grey. To the right... well, the right is harder to understand. The right is blacks and reds, low burning fire, dense fog in places. The soft sounds of screaming, barely audible - and only when you're looking at it.
All three of these places give off a distinct and unmissable feeling of dread and foreboding. The sense that there are eyes upon you. In dreams, intuition doesn't need evidence - Tony will know just because that there is a predator on its way. A monster of some kind, big and unforgiving and lethal. The kind of thing that will not kill you, but rather do that abstract worse-than-death something by dragging you away into the dark. ]
ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ → ʙᴇʟʟ,ᴍʀ ᴅʀ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴏ̨ᴜɪᴄᴋᴇʀ sᴏʙᴇʀᴜᴘᴘᴇʀ
The Winchester is a peculiar species whose characteristics seem to change with the seasons - a sociable creature in the spring and summer months, but a dangerous predator in the darkness of winter. There is, however, one constant trait about them: their natural habitat is a bar. A Winchester can be found rather consistently in a nest he will have claimed as his own, returning to it on a near-nightly basis to perform a strict set of rituals.
Unlike most semi-solitary animals, Dean isn't territorial of this nest. Quite the opposite, in fact, he seems to derive joy the more populated it becomes. He also develops a certain rapport with other frequently returning visitors.
End narration.
Thanks to the simulation Bellamy was a familiar face even before he started swinging by, but now they've got an easy understanding and a pretty regular rhythm. He comes in, Bellamy gets him a double without even asking anymore. Dean nurses it on a good day and switches to beer, or shoots it on a bad one and plunks the glass down for round two. He usually spends a couple hours here shooting the shit before he packs it in, whether it be playing pool with anyone who doesn't know better yet or just occupying a little space with other solitary-social drinkers to make small talk.
Tonight it's the latter. It's a Friday, and the place is absolutely slammed. That's not unusual in the slightest, nor is it unusual that a few people are getting maybe a little too carried away. It's not typically a problem, particularly for the displaced who have a pretty level respect and understanding for the owner and the staff.
Locals are another thing altogether. There are two of them tonight; a sturdy man with hair down to his shoulders and a wasted-looking woman in his lap, lulling to either side. One of the guys at their table makes the crucial mistake of pointing out maybe the girl's had enough, and in the way angry drunks are wont to do it escalates from zero to sixty in no time.
The girl hits the floor, because apparently her man cares more about fighting over her sobriety than her physical well-being. It isn't all that noticable at first over the din of noise, the what did you just say to me, the following hey man, calm down--, and then don't you fucking tell me to calm down--
It's when he grabs the table and flips it over that the patrons around them get quiet to observe the sudden scene. A quick glance around the room doesn't show the guys who work security right off - probably handling something in the back, or caught behind the wall of people forming. They'll surely get there, but it'll take a few minutes. ]
ᴏᴘᴇɴ → ᴛʙᴅ
no subject
It's the problem patrons that drive him up the wall. Bellamy's never been one for drunken revelry, as Clarke has so often pointed out to him, and he's already getting a reputation for being a hardass when it comes to customers overdoing it. He has no patience for drunken fights or those guys who are only into getting drunk and flirting obnoxiously. But hey, Clarke did say she needed help preventing trouble.
Dean's one of the regulars that Bellamy actually likes. Even if they weren't familiar, they have a routine going, and Dean doesn't talk Bellamy's ear off when he's busy or expect endless discounts just because they're acquaintances.
No matter how pleasant the company, though, tonight was destined to be a nightmare. It's slammed, they're understaffed because of some call-ins, and people are getting rowdy. Usually, Bellamy would be on top of it sooner, but he can't be in five places at once, and so the little group at the bar gets out of control before he can even pick up on any tension. He hears rising voices, though, and he's on his way when suddenly it spins out of control and there's a table being flipped and people start freaking out.
Bellamy pushes his way through the crowd, and luckily, someone's helping the girl to her feet, so he can focus on the assholes. With a sharp hey, he reaches for the instigator's arm, and... of course earns a punch to the jaw for his trouble. Apparently this isn't going to be a one person job.]
fashionably late(?)
he hates it.
there is no rhyme or reason to dreams, yet they somehow manage to force someone into confronting what they so desperately attempt to ignore during the day. he doesn't know what this one has in store for him, but he can already feel the effects it's having on him — an increase in heart rate and blood pressure, muscles tensing in anticipation, senses alert to even the slightest of sounds. his body tells him to run and hide, to get ready, yet his brain tells him that there is nothing to fear.
it doesn't stop him from keeping his path close to the trees, a source of concealment. of course, it could all be futile. something is coming after him and he has a pretty decent idea that he won't be able to outrun it for long. he probably won't be able to beat it in a fight either. not without his suit on him.
and if he really thinks on it, he might not even be able to outsmart it. after all, this is his dream, right...? ]
no subject
Dean's got a forearm braced across his chest, a blade held in that hand — an indicator, maybe reassuring, that he doesn't intend to use it on Tony or else it'd be in the other hand. He doesn't say a word; instead, he raises a finger to his lips. A shh without the sound, everything muted to silence in this dreamscape.
Everything but the sudden quiet crack of footsteps on branches somewhere off to their left. ]
no subject
but why is dean here? he wants to ask, but the threat has yet to pass.
the sound of footsteps can be heard from a short distance away. is it human or is it something else? listening intently, tony prepares himself for what may come, but at the very least, one of them has a weapon on him. got a knife to spare, buddy? ]