[Crack Plot] Attack of the Vampire Melons!!!

[gardenwarlock]

A hot night in July, the kind of night when the air hangs heavy and still, not a breath of air to stir the leaves of the trees, or the curtains of windows left open in the Mansion, to let in what fresh air there might be. A full moon shines through the treetops, silvering the drowsy land and trees, painting every leaf in blue-white light

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[surfaceshine]

Okay, so, it's not like insomnia or drinking are new things to Dean; in point of fact, they've been his close companions for quite some time now, and he was well associated with them even before that. For the most part, he doesn't seem to have a problem with either of them, unless Sam is nagging him; it's kind of just how life is

[gardenwarlock]

He might hear something else growling, though this sounds human and it's uttering words. albeit curses in German. A tall, muscular but slightly rangy-looking fellow comes barreling across the lawn, wielding a hoe and chasing a melon. He strikes out at the thing with the hoe, but it eludes him, and a second one rolls up behind him, whacking him in the backs of his ankles, sending him sprawling on his face.

"Scheisse..." the German dude spits, pulling himself up on one elbow, as the melon rolls up his back and bonks him on the head.

[surfaceshine]

Dean wastes about thirty seconds just staring, because really, what else is a guy supposed to do? Besides, he can't see how any real damage is going to be done; they don't exactly have teeth. So while he does put down the whiskey safely out of bounds of anything that doesn't have joints or wings, Dean doesn't exactly feel compelled to strain his leg going racing to the rescue or anything. He picks up a broom leaning against the house instead, and uses it to ease himself down the stairs; once on even ground, he dodges the one he'd been watching to begin with - still angrily trying to storm the Mansion, which Dean wishes it luck with - and moves towards the faceplanted guy.

"Hey, dude." Taking the broom into both hands, the hunter swings it like a golf club to dislodge the fruit atop the stranger. "I'm no expert or anything, but your fruit salad is looking a bit lively."

[gardenwarlock]

The tall guy lifts himself onto one elbow. "Damned if I know how these melons came to stray from my garden: I put no spell on them aside from a spell to speed their growth. It should not have caused *this*."

[surfaceshine]

Dean snorts, and glances up at the moon; he can't say he's surprised. He's never heard of this before in either reality or folklore, but all sorts of random shit happens on the full moon, in his experience, and much of it worse than frisky gourds.

"Well," replies Dean, swapping ends of the broom so he can stab the handle down at the melon he just toppled from the other man, like he's spearing fish or something. "Spells are usually bad news, in my experience. Maybe something went wrong."

He'd think about launching into his lecture about how magic is best left alone and usually not worth the consequences; but A.) He's met a few people already that make that lecture seem a bit on the kindergarten side, and B.) it doesn't really matter, here. So instead, he reaches down to offer Klingsor a hand up - and hopefully the warlock will forgive him if Dean has strategically placed the other man's supine form between himself and the nearest of the melons. Bad leg, and all.

[gardenwarlock]

"I am not some green youth, meddling with spells beyond his talents," he replies, indignantly. "If something went wrong, then it means someone tampered with my workings, and once these things have been subdued, I shall seek out the one who interfered with my garden."

He doesn't seem to notice he's pretty much in the line of fire, but he's not objecting if he does. He might be accepting himself as a shield for the wounded mortal.

[surfaceshine]

Dean's still got the original melon skewered to the ground with the broom, and he holds onto it for support while he raises his other hand momentarily up and palm out in a show of appeasement, before offering the hand again to the other man.

"Hey, dude, I was just sayin'. Fruit doesn't usually start bowling for ankles until it's hit with the fairydust, but maybe that's the only way some people eat it. Does it add calories?" He'd have a few more quips but at that point the kabobbed melon rolls particularly unpredictably and manages to careen into Dean's leg; he curses, loudly, and swings wild with his other foot to get it away, but the damage is done. Dena ends up on his ass, losing his grip on the broom and swearing a blue streak because he jarred both his leg and his arm.

[gardenwarlock]

"This sudden...awakening of my creation was unexpected, and far from my intention --" He stops and kicks the formerly kabobbed melon, smashing it, then reaches down, offering a hand to Dean. "Shall I bring you some place out of the path of these monstrosities?" he offers.

[surfaceshine]

It's somewhat reassuring to hear the man refer to the freak gourds as monstrosities, so Dean switches tack from flat out refusing the hand to reaching for it; his brain catches up to him and confirms this is a good idea, because with his leg he's not likely to make it up very easily after having landed on it just now.

"Thanks. The stairs seem to put a twist in their panties. What're you gonna do with 'em?"

[gardenwarlock]

"Magic of this nature decays with the rising sun, and so with the dawn, I shall collect what fruits survive the night and see if they still show signs of life," he says. Typist willing, he'll drape Dean's arm over his shoulders and let the younger man lean on him. "The rest, I shall break up for the compost heap."

[surfaceshine]

Dean would normally protest like a mule, but he was an idiot for straining the leg as soon as he did and he was an idiot for letting himself get taken down like that, and his bad leg is letting him know about it. Grudgingly but silently, he accepts Klingsor's help for the time being, trying to lean as little as possible.

"Thought you didn't know what happened to 'em. How'd you know it'll screw off at dawn?"

[gardenwarlock]

"Magic spells often lose their power with the rising or the setting of the sun, unless someone gives it an extra dose of their will," he says, leading the way to the house, or at least the steps. "And now that they are scattered, they would be harder to charge again."

[surfaceshine]

Dean reaches to grab onto the support of the stair rail as soon as he can reach it, eager to get his own two feet under him and stop freaking leaning on strangers - even if it's just to land on his butt on the top step.

Klingsor gets a raised eyebrow for that particular comment, though. "O...kay..." Because that hasn't been his experience at all, though there have been a few that fit the bill. Dean frowns. "Well. You would know I guess. I'm Dean, by the way."

[gardenwarlock]

"I am Lord Klingsor, formerly of the Terre de Mervielle, now a mere gardener dwelling here," he replies, looking out across the lawn.

Dean isn't quite his type, fortunately for Dean, otherwise he'd be checking the younger man out.

[surfaceshine]

"That's funny - you don't look like you fell forehead first onto a radiator." Dean grins, clearly amused with himself before he realizes the reference is overwhelmingly likely to go directly over Klingsor's distinctly un-Worf-like head; he coughs to cover and settles more into his seat.

"So uh. At least you got a lot of room? You know. For gardening." He sounds uncertain - he's not sure what the bright side might be for Lords turned gardener.

Also, it's good Dean isn't Klingsor's type, because Klingsor is definitively not Dean's.

[gardenwarlock]

That reference gets a blank stare from the warlock, but he puts it aside, despite the fact that part of him can't help thinking the newcomer is a bit touched in the head, or perhaps the shock of tangling with an aggressive fruit has rattled his wits.

"I have a corner that I claimed as my own," he says. "Shall I say that my methods might be considered too... extravagant for most tastes?" he adds, with an odd lilt. "I prefer dense plantings, which are not always appreciated by most folk."