Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dashboardlite) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entranceway2012-08-31 06:36 pm
dashboardlite) wrote in entranceway2012-08-31 06:36 pm
[video/text/action] got to keep moving
[Today's transmission from one Dean Winchester features the hunter in several scenarios which you, dear reader, may take part in.]
Hey.
[The first is early on, and we can see Dean brimming with confidence, wielding a sawed-off shotgun. This is his area of expertise, after all, and what's a little mist?]
I know this is like the second round of weird fog we've got, but I'm pretty sure it's not gonna be The Happening and there aren't any...I dunno...deadly trees.
[As you can see, he is unfamiliar with Alex Kralie's canon.]
If anyone sees anything weird or suspicious, report in, yeah?
[The second thrilling installment is harried words, typed into the system and sent out to anyone with a communicator. Progressively, they appear to worsen in tone.]
SENT: 6:30 PM
recon mission into the fog outside. wish a guy luck.
SENT: 6:49 PM
this stuff aint so bad, no worries so far.
SENT: 6:50 PM
or tree monsters.
SENT: 7:01 PM
somethin out here.
SENT: 7:13 PM
shit
SENT: 7:16 PM
SHIT
SENT: 7:22 PM
whatever it is it's got
[They stop there.
The third and final part of this venture is pure, unadulterated fear and a paranoid scramble for the Mansion.
Each step he takes, one follows. A padded foot on the ground outside, the crackle of leaves under a heavy, substantial weight. His heart is trapped in his throat and his stomach turns with anguish as eyes - bright, burning-coal eyes - watch him.
A howl.
And another.
The house couldn't be any further away, and sprinting is a chore. A lamp glitters in the window and blurs his vision with speckles of blue and violet, distantly Dean is aware that he's turning the knob to the house, slamming the door behind him, and clamoring to get into the nearest parlor, armed to the teeth.]
Not-! Not getting- not gettin' me, no...no, they won't-
[Back to the wall, a line of brown powder across the floor near the entrance to the room, Dean waits.
Skin prickling, pulse pounding, while the snuffling and scratching echoes around him.
The Hellhounds are here.]
Hey.
[The first is early on, and we can see Dean brimming with confidence, wielding a sawed-off shotgun. This is his area of expertise, after all, and what's a little mist?]
I know this is like the second round of weird fog we've got, but I'm pretty sure it's not gonna be The Happening and there aren't any...I dunno...deadly trees.
[As you can see, he is unfamiliar with Alex Kralie's canon.]
If anyone sees anything weird or suspicious, report in, yeah?
[The second thrilling installment is harried words, typed into the system and sent out to anyone with a communicator. Progressively, they appear to worsen in tone.]
recon mission into the fog outside. wish a guy luck.
SENT: 6:49 PM
this stuff aint so bad, no worries so far.
SENT: 6:50 PM
or tree monsters.
SENT: 7:01 PM
somethin out here.
SENT: 7:13 PM
shit
SENT: 7:16 PM
SHIT
SENT: 7:22 PM
whatever it is it's got
[They stop there.
The third and final part of this venture is pure, unadulterated fear and a paranoid scramble for the Mansion.
Each step he takes, one follows. A padded foot on the ground outside, the crackle of leaves under a heavy, substantial weight. His heart is trapped in his throat and his stomach turns with anguish as eyes - bright, burning-coal eyes - watch him.
A howl.
And another.
The house couldn't be any further away, and sprinting is a chore. A lamp glitters in the window and blurs his vision with speckles of blue and violet, distantly Dean is aware that he's turning the knob to the house, slamming the door behind him, and clamoring to get into the nearest parlor, armed to the teeth.]
Not-! Not getting- not gettin' me, no...no, they won't-
[Back to the wall, a line of brown powder across the floor near the entrance to the room, Dean waits.
Skin prickling, pulse pounding, while the snuffling and scratching echoes around him.
The Hellhounds are here.]