[For Dean Winchester] "Approach My trusty jackal's nose"

[death_dawg]

Arriving here is the closest thing to arriving in what would become Cairo, Illinois that Jacquel has experienced in the millenia he's seen: it is an odd experience, to say the least, but he's adapting. It's how he's lasted all these years and he's ready to adapt to this place as well: death might not hold any grip here, but one never knows when his

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<3

[surfaceshine]

Peace isn't something Dean is really aware of how to obtain; or more accurately, not something he's aware of how to maintain. Everyone and their brother (no, literally) seems to have it out for him and his, so nothing lasts long. That's why he's working so hard, at this moment, to ignore the familiar but as of yet distant, internal feel of nerves splintering, trying to get back to the calm balance he'd found during the afternoon napping in their room. Restlessness is how it starts. He knows how it ends.

So that's why he's coming around to the door Jacquel is lounging beside from the outside, having decided that outside isn't doing him much good on the wandering front. It's the feel of the stranger - familiar, not necessarily good but contrasting with not necessarily bad - that stops him, though Dean completely misses it on the conscious level in amongst everything else. He only knows that it stopped him long enough to tilt a nod.

"Hey. I think your tan's done." Humor is always his first stop. Well. Mostly.

Re: <3

[death_dawg]

The dark gent looks up at him, grinning a bit, and there's something about it that suggests the easy friendliness of a dog. "Been done for quite a while: the sun doesn't really affect me much," he says, dryly. He glances at the bottles next to him. "Care for one? It's not as good as the way they made it where I come from, but it's fair enough."

[surfaceshine]

Dean used to like dogs a great deal more. However, friendliness is always appreciated (and regarded with wary, vague suspicion, but he can and will keep that to himself for now), and the beer will be at least as welcome if not moreso.

"Handy, that." He means the sun thing; the other is a foregone conclusion as Dean moves within range, already a bit too intent on the idea of accepting Jacquel's offer. "Sure, if you don't mind. I ain't one to come between a man and his beer."

[death_dawg]

"Not in the least: help yourself. Brought it out in case I had any company," he says. "I'm Jacquel."

[surfaceshine]

"Dean," the hunter returns, needing no further encouragement to hook one of the bottles between his fingers in the same movement as he drops down heavily onto the step. He pops the cap in an easy, thoughtless movement with the broad silver ring on his right hand, looking sideways at the other man. "That's... kind of an odd name, isn't it?"

By which he means he can't really place it; obviously he's hearing it as "jackal" but the man doesn't look Native American and that's the only culture that Dean is aware that names themselves after animals. Philanthropy is Sam's shtick.

[death_dawg]

"It's what people call me, the name on our family business," he says, casually. "One of them, at least: my partner hasn't found his way here."

[surfaceshine]

Dean shrugs easily enough. "Makes sense."

There's that feeling again; partner. The hunter can't put his finger on it, isn't consciously sure there's anything to put his finger on, but he turns the beer in his hand idly. "Family business, huh? What'd that be?"

[death_dawg]

"We're funeral directors, or undertakers, as they used to call them, a century or two ago, one of the oldest on Cairo," he says.

[surfaceshine]

That combination pokes something, but it's nowhere near conscious level so Dean only sips his beer while considering the other man.

"Yeah? Must pay pretty well, if you're counting in centuries."

[death_dawg]

"The pay is one thing, serving the needs of the dead and the living they leave behind is another matter," he says. "Serving is more important."

[surfaceshine]

The corners of Dean's mouth twitch downwards but he doesn't quite let the frown go all the way; sounds like a familiar declaration. Instead, he raises an eyebrow and paints his voice with skepticism. "People actually say that these days?"

[death_dawg]

"I'm one of the few who does, it would seem," he says, calmly, but the look in his dark eyes is serious without being severe.

[surfaceshine]

Dean considers that for a moment, eyes half-lidding so he can study Jacquel sideways from beneath their cover; finally, he shrugs with one shoulder, and takes another sip of the beer.

"Never met anyone from Cairo. Must be different there."

[death_dawg]

"Not so different as any other town in the Mid-West," he says, taking a swing from his beer.

He just made a joke. It's just as dry as the desert sands he came from...

[surfaceshine]

Dean's eyes narrow abruptly, at first because he's suspicious of how Jacquel could know that about him, but then he reminds himself that it's not always about Winchesters and his extensive knowledge of small American towns and back roads kicks in.

"...Illinois?" The hunter frowns skeptically, turning his beer thoughtfully in his hands.

[death_dawg]

"Right at the delta of the Big Muddy River where it empties into the Mississippi," he says. "There's a Goshen and an Alexandria and a Thebes there, too," he says. "Someone with the book of Exodus and Herodotus's Histories in their head named the settlements, not knowing that real folk from the land of the Nile had been there ages before."