Bobby Singer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unclebadass) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entranceway2013-06-27 10:17 am
unclebadass) wrote in entranceway2013-06-27 10:17 am
Entry tags:
- final fantasy vii: cloud strife,
- final fantasy vii: kunsel,
- fullmetal alchemist: edward elric,
- good omens: crowley,
- persona 4: seta souji,
- supernatural: bobby singer,
- supernatural: castiel,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- supernatural: dick roman,
- supernatural: jo harvelle,
- supernatural: john winchester,
- supernatural: sam winchester,
- twilight: alice cullen
Action/Video
[there's any number of things Bobby expected to find in the afterlife. fire and brimstone was up there. maybe a nice idyllic patch of Heaven with Karen, if he was being particularly whimsical. hell, nothing had generally been his default thought before finding out about demons and their ilk
but pristine shirts arranged neatly on clothes hangers? yeah, that didn't come up quite so much. or the shoes, particularly the ones Bobby just tripped over. he grunts, grabbing at a flannel shirt to keep his balance, only to have it snap off the hanger and send him barreling into the door, slamming it open as he lands in a heap on the ground, shirts following suit]
Balls!
[he's back on his feet instantly, hand instinctively reaching for the shotgun that isn't there while he surveys the room. if this is Hell, it's mighty tidy; and if it's Heaven, where are all the angels? the pearly gates, the welcoming party?]
What the hell? [he reaches up, fixing the trucker cap skewed from his fall, and straightens his shirt. he'll be damned if he's just going to sit here and wait for someone to find him. besides, he feels naked without a weapon, and he could really use a stiff drink, and neither of those was just gonna appear of their own free will]
[ooc: Bobby's landed in his own room on Floor Five, and he'll be stalking the halls of the mansion looking for guns/booze/whatever he thinks the afterlife offers. feel free to explain him a thing]
but pristine shirts arranged neatly on clothes hangers? yeah, that didn't come up quite so much. or the shoes, particularly the ones Bobby just tripped over. he grunts, grabbing at a flannel shirt to keep his balance, only to have it snap off the hanger and send him barreling into the door, slamming it open as he lands in a heap on the ground, shirts following suit]
Balls!
[he's back on his feet instantly, hand instinctively reaching for the shotgun that isn't there while he surveys the room. if this is Hell, it's mighty tidy; and if it's Heaven, where are all the angels? the pearly gates, the welcoming party?]
What the hell? [he reaches up, fixing the trucker cap skewed from his fall, and straightens his shirt. he'll be damned if he's just going to sit here and wait for someone to find him. besides, he feels naked without a weapon, and he could really use a stiff drink, and neither of those was just gonna appear of their own free will]
[ooc: Bobby's landed in his own room on Floor Five, and he'll be stalking the halls of the mansion looking for guns/booze/whatever he thinks the afterlife offers. feel free to explain him a thing]