crickets wander, murmuring [open]

[sanswords]

Echo had been cooped up all winter, waiting for spring to arrive. Sure, she had spent some time outside playing in the snow, but she's a nymph, and nymphs like warm weather. So when she saw it was getting nice out, she happily went outside

Comments

Sorry so late - can we still play? Ignore if not, we'll likely survive.

[surfaceshine]

My, my, the mood swings. Dean has been vacillating between pretty much alright, manic happiness, and biting moodiness pretty much... since this time last year, but whatever, who's counting. Not Dean. What Dean is trying to count is windows, because working on his project from inside the house is not really working.

That's how he first sees her, and a few moments later, decides worse things could happen than bombing another conversation.

"They make lawnmowers for that, you know." It doesn't come out quite as friendly as he meant it, but neither is it as bitchy as he's been, so he'll call it a win.

sure! :)

[sanswords]

"...you know." She looks up at him, curious.

\o/

[surfaceshine]

Dean takes that as encouragement, even though he doesn't really understand how it could be, and moves closer. One eyebrow is raised in... it's not really strongly anything at this point to be called something else besides interest, but it'll get there.

"Yeah, I do. Kinda. Never had a lawn to mow, so not firsthand, but yeah." He tries for a small smile, and half makes it, because he's trying to be cute with his response.

Re: \o/

[sanswords]

"...but yeah." She smiles back at him, eager to please.

[surfaceshine]

If it were anyone but a, quite frankly, adorable young lady doing that to him, his temper might be roused ever so slightly. But it is, so that raised eyebrow just ticks up another notch, confusion starting to bleed into the expression.

"But yeah, what?"

[sanswords]

"...yeah, what?" She might pout a little and point to her throat, sighing.

[surfaceshine]

Okay, this is weird. Dean's instincts tell him she's not mocking him or playing a game, though he couldn't put his finger on a particular piece of evidence if asked. She's just... not. He tilts his head, lips pressed together in thought for a few long moments, studying her.

It smells supernatural (which, in this place, is saying something). He'd know it anywhere. He just doesn't know what it is.

"Somethin' wrong with your throat, sweetheart?" It's where she's pointing, so that's where he starts. The hunter keeps a comfortable distance for now, because technically he hasn't been invited in closer.

[sanswords]

"...throat, sweetheart?" She sighs again and shakes her head.

[surfaceshine]

Of course he's noticed that she's echoing him. He can't help but notice it. Dean just doesn't know what it means, except a modified game of charades. He jams his hands in his pockets for something to do with them, then frowns slightly.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but - are you human?" It might seem like a strange jump. It wouldn't if one were familiar with him, though.

[sanswords]

"...you human?" She shakes her head. If only she had pen and paper to write on, she thinks.

[surfaceshine]

Dean has his creeper notebook rolled up and stuffed in his back pocket for safe keeping; the pencil he's been chewing on out of frustration is stuck behind his ear. Both are readily visible, though the hunter hasn't thought of them yet.

"Uh huh. Figures. The cute ones never are." Dean smirksmiles to try to make it into the joke it's supposed to be. "Don't suppose there's a chance you're not malicious?"

[sanswords]

"...not malicious?" She pouts a little at that, feeling bad. But she does see the notebook, and points to it.

[surfaceshine]

If Dean were even a little less distracted, he might have been more suspicious; it's his notebook with all the notes on the inhabitants he's met in the mansion so far, and though he couldn't really say what anyone would want with it, normally he'd not let it out of his sight. He follows her point now, though, and blinks but pulls it out, flips to the very last page, and holds both it and the pencil out.

"No offense, sweetheart. Routine questions and all."

[sanswords]

"...and all." Echo nods, looking a tad depressed. But she takes the pencil and notebook from him gingerly.

She writes:

My name is Echo. I'm a nymph who was cursed by a goddess. I was taught how to write by a friend here. I'm not dangerous at all.

Echo then holds the notebook up, so that he can see.

[surfaceshine]

Argh - why must people look at him all depressed? It kicks Dean in the hindbrain and makes him itch to Fix It. He waits, head tilted and curious while she writes, and then blinks when he reads it.

"You're shitting me." Mythology was Sam's forte, not Dean's, and as such the elder Winchester would not have thought of it on his own; but now that it's being pointed out to him, he kind of remembers something along those lines from high school mythology. "That kind of crap actually happens?"

[sanswords]

"...actually happens?" She nods sadly.