hasperkynipples: (and it isn't for play)
The hall for the main event is decked out to the nines which means Dean is breaking out the ol' tuxedo. He's not particularly fond of that end of his job, preferring to handle things in much more comfortable attire, but this isn't his gig, it's Christine's, and he'll let her play it his way. Besides, he probably only has to suffer through an hour of this, at best, before he gets to go hang out and play back up in a sniper's nest far, far away.

He glances over at the hotel across the street as they get out of the car, before glancing back to her again. They have a few minutes before they're within earshot of anyone who would care, so now is the time to cover their bases.

"What room are you going to be in again?"

The details are important. If he's going to have her back, he needs to be sure that he is in the right place at the right time. And he's not one to leave his partner hanging out to dry.
hasperkynipples: * mary, + text (which then turned into)
Her son received a letter from a woman.

Not that the idea of Dean having female suitors is unheard of in the Winchester household, but before the war they weren't particularly ones to write. After the war - well, they were almost non-existent. Mary isn't one to deny the fact that her son came home different, a little bit colder but still gentle in the ways that mattered. He grew up in his time away and while the things he's seen were likely not pleasant, he isn't letting them mar him. At least, not in ways that she can see.

All the same, the letter from a woman, a Miss Christine Chapel, finds its way to their front door, and the inherent curiosity gets the better of her. She informs him of the letter, lets him read it, and waits for him to do something in response. In fact, she waits an entire week, and when he doesn't give her a return letter to put through the post, she takes matters into her own hands.

John will probably scold her for it later, but she also saw the look on her son's face when he read it. This meddling is worth doing.

It's takes some time for mail to travel, so much so that she almost completely forgot about the invitation she extended this "Christine Chapel." So when the blond woman appears at their doorstep while she's tending to the flowers in front of their home, she can't help but blink at her in surprise.

"Can I help you?"
hasperkynipples: (just trust me to admit)
On Person:
  • 1 jacket
  • 1 button down
  • 1 t-shirt
  • 1 pair of jeans
  • 1 pair of socks
  • 1 pair of boots
  • 1 pair of underwear
  • keys to the Impala
  • 1 Colt M1911A1 with a full clip


  • Duffle Bag (Othala)
  • 5 sets of clothing
  • 1 Gebo uniform
  • 1 Breather (just in case)
  • 1 bottle of whiskey (don't judge him)
  • 3 butcher knives, wrapped in towels (stolen)
  • Any information or notes he's compiled on things.
  • 1 toiletry set
  • toothbrush
  • toothpaste
  • razor
  • shaving cream
  • soap
  • shampoo


  • Carpet Bag (Gebo - Mary Poppins bag)
  • 3 bedding sets (sheets/pillows/pillowcases/blankets)
  • bottled water
  • canned food (beans and soup mostly)
  • nutrition paste (it's gross but just in case)
  • a baseball bat
  • hasperkynipples: (tossed about like a ship on the ocean)
    Placeholder will make this pretty, blah blah blah.
    hasperkynipples: (and the light hits my face)
    He doesn't see it coming.

    He should have. He's a soldier, he's trained for these things. He should have expected that after so long of being occupied, the citizens of New Orleans would start striking back. There's no reason why they wouldn't pick off Union soldiers seen on their own. Dean had gotten complacent. Gotten sloppy. And now he was probably going to die before he could even make it back to his unit.

    His hand stays pressed to his side as he continues to stumble up the street, trying to keep himself mobile as best he can. He hurts, everywhere from the beating he had taken and the blood is still leaking through his fingers. He's not going to make it. His parents, brother, they may be prepared for him to die in the heat of battle. He doesn't think they would appreciate hearing that he was killed by being jumped on the street.

    He trips on a crack in the pathway, pitching forward into a nearby fence post with a pained groan. He tries to push himself back to his feet again, but he can't. His body drops to the ground, slumping against the fence as he does, trying to catch his breath. Things are starting to get hazy around the edges, but he still thinks that he can make out the faint sound of footsteps.

    "Help me," he manages to whisper, unsure if he's talking to anyone at all. "Please."
    hasperkynipples: (but i flew too high)
    This is where you let me know how I'm doing with CHARACTER NAME HERE. Am I completely off the mark? Is he not talkative enough? Is there anything that you think I should be doing better?

    Let me know. I don't bite, promise.


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    Dean Winchester

    December 2014

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