...What was that? Was that death? It sounded like death.
Dean had, of course, been trying to hide out in the hut, fighting his way around masses of... girl things all around the hut, in the way and in his stuff, oh, God, ew. Dean couldn't handle this. One second, he's fine! All by himself and going to help the hat with whatever! Then he's married. To Steph. And talk of babies, eugh.
And, you know, now... Death. Following him around every corner, in the form of a rather irritated blond in a tattered wedding dress. ...This was like some bad horror movie or something, he was pretty sure. Women in white and all that jazz. Anyway.
"Nobody's home!" Dean yelled out from the bathroom, door most decidedly locked. "Go away!" Pause. "Wife!"
Oh, HELL to the NO. He was not going to get away with this by hiding in the little girl's room!
"You are the stupidest person that has ever existed in the history of EVER," she shouted, walking right towards the door. Locks? Pah! It would take more than one measly lock to save Dean from Steph's fully justified anger.
She was a Witch, for one! She could Alohomora with the best of them. Not that it was necessary, thanks to what was quite possibly the most useful gift she'd ever received. A ring charmed to open all locks. Bless George and his slightly illegal business pursuits.
Reaching out silently, she opened the door in one swift motion, with a smile that promised very bad things for Dean's well-being.
Not that Dean didn't know about unlocking spells or any of that stuff. Maybe he was just praying she didn't know them? Or was trying to hide as long as he could manage, from said death in the wedding dress. ...It wasn't working.
Dean was halfway into tugging on his t-shirt when Steph busted in, one arm through a sleeve, the other half up over his head and... Oh, yeah, some definitely deer in the headlights going on right now. How did she... Did she have a... Oh, shit on a stick, this was the most terrifying moment in all of his life.
"Hi?," Steph thundered. "You leave me to deal with relatives, crazy baby loving chicks, confused boyfriends, ugly ass decorations, hats on crack, and ALL YOU CAN SAY IS HI?" Unacceptable! "Pull your shirt down, because I AM GOING TO SLAP YOU IN THE FACE." No, really. She was winding up, to give her new hubby a slap.
And... he wasn't supposed to run away from all of that? As fast as humanly possible? Honestly. He tugged his shirt down, nonetheless, ready to brace himself or block or something if she decided to jump towards him with a slap. Crazy bitch. "What are you talking about? Get out of my house, I'm so not staying married to you, what the fuck."
"You-you-you think I WANT to stay married to you? Me? To you?" Steph was beyond anger, into sputtering, all-consuming indignation. One lousy slap wasn't enough to quell her range. There would be time for payback later. First, she needed to get some Facts through Dean's incredibly idiotic head. Not to his brain, though. She suspected he didn't have one.
"First of all, Hairgel," she said in clipped tones "I will gladly leave this smelly-ass hut once I've got all of my stuff packed up. And if you touched any of my things, I will have to hurt you. Badly."
"Second of all, I have a boyfriend - why the hell would I want to be married to you? I'm the one who's got something to lose, here. You're only pissed off because having a wife gets in the way of you being a Ho."
"Third of all, this is all your fault. Don't yell at me, when I'm the one who was married by some drugged up headwear, and then left to deal with the mess all on my own! That was not cool, Dean! You don't do that to friend!"
Oh, dear Christ, he should have been running. Now. While he still could. ...Dean Winchester. At a point when he was considering running from something rather than barreling at it headfirst with firearms. Of course, riddling Steph with holes probably wouldn't even stop her, at this point. She'd probably just get more bitchy, on account of bullet holes. You couldn't kill death, yo
( ... )
"As a joke. If you knew how to take a joke, this never would have happened!" Some people just did have a sense of humor.
He was complaining about sparkles? "I would have gladly taken sparkles over this." Steph motioned to her slightly green dress. "You think the suit was rough, this thing has a built in corset." But still, the apology made Steph SLIGHTLY less ready to kill Dean, if only because it didn't seem like something he did that often.
Steph raised an eyebrow. "You, my friend, are a ho with a capital H." Truth. "Look, I need to get out of this dress before I kill someone. I'm commandeering your bathroom - hand me that red suitcase against the wall."
"Okay, no, except for the part where jokes... do not end up with me getting married. Or anybody getting married," Dean automatically argued, waving a hand at Steph for... emphasis or something. Which probably meant he was just flailing. "Unless there is Vegas involved, and a shitload of booze, this was way beyond 'joke' territory."
Oh, she was severely understating the horror that was that disco suit. There had been hideous shades of pastel blue. And sparkles. "Are you for real?" Maybe more flailing, on account of disco. Which, really, if anybody asked, he would have written up as manly gestures in Steph's general direction. Or something. "There were sparkles! A corset does not equal to the horrors that... sparkles have in store. Okay? Okay."
And that was... just not cool. He was totally not a ho, especially with no capitals. Except for the times when he totally was, but we did not speak of those times, mostly because they got Dean laid and he wasn't complaining any time soon. "'Commandeering'? I don't think that's even a freakin'
( ... )
"Dude." Dude. "Try wearing a corset for hours on end, and then come talk to me. It's not even comparable to a little glitter."
Steph gave a long suffering sigh. "It's a nautical term. It means me and my girly stuff are taking over your bathroom, so stay the hell out." Then, slamming the door, sounds of scuffling could be heard.
Steph, still fully clothed, peeked her head out of the bathroom, looking abhorred. "Dean, take a note. Guest soaps are your friend."
George had received a summons from Steph - something that had sounded a little desperate and mentioned a terrible need for soap - so he, being a good boyfriend, had amiably wandered down to the groundskeeper's hut to help with the Big Move. Hands in his pocket, he just ambled inside, grinning at Dean.
"Hello. George Weasley, Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, boyfriend to your blushing bride, and sometimes pack mule. I got a charming note indicating my services were needed." Holding out his hand to Dean, he added, "Also, I was instructed to bring soap. Therefore, I have a selection. We have your normal shower soap, this duck shaped soap I was going to send to my dad, this girly pink stuff my mum'd probably like, and a full range of the WWW specialty soaps, including one that turns your skin blue and one that makes the shower smell like dungbombs." He pulled a box with said soaps out of his knapsack and put it on the counter. "Take your pick
( ... )
"You weren't in that friggin' suit, you don't even know," Dean yelled back through the door, a bit uselessly, scowling and crossing his arms in annoyance. Fine. They could play this game.
...Who the hell was this guy and how did he get in so easily?
Oh, the boyfriend. Dean shook George's hand in return, although there was a definite shade of wariness tinging his eyes as he glanced the guy over briefly. Seemed harmless enough. Seemed, of course, and Dean had been in this business long enough to know that nothing was what it seemed, not really. "Dean Winchester. ...Forced into wedlock. In need of one less female in this house!" The latter portion, of course, shouted towards the direction of the bathroom
Except huh? "Specialty soap that what?" Where could he get this stuff again? Also, how much, and was it usable on floppy-haired, sixteen feet tall men? Yes? Sweet. Dean was picking at the box of soaps, surveying everything inside as George started... saying something about the hut. "Hagrid? Was that the giant guy that was in here
"Your FACE doesn't even know," Steph yelled back, bitingly. Even the bathroom door couldn't muffle an insult that razor sharp.
While changing into her trusty sweater and jeans combo, Steph took a moment to send a quick note to George. The contents read thusly:
Honey,
COME HELP ME MOVE NOW.
-Steph
P.S. BRING SOAP. P.P.S. GUEST SOAP.
Buff, being kind of a perv, had finagled his way into the bathroom pre-door slamming. She sighed, and pushed his fat butt out the window.
And damn if the boyfriend wasn't prompt. Steph marched into the living room, and broke her scowling for half a millisecond to give George a smile. "The pink girly one," she demanded, hand outstretched.
Grinning at Dean's enthusiasm, George leaned back against the counter, arms folded loosely. He was not at all intimidated by Dean. ...Okay, maybe he was giving the other man (his girlfriend's husband) a once over, evaluating if he was going to need to bust out the big guns. But hey, so far there was only consternation on both sides, plus interest in the WWW soaps! So, all in all, George was pretty chill about the whole thing.
"That was Hagrid," George nodded. "You also have a very definite lack of dangerous pets here, too, so that's another plus!" He pointed to one purple soap near Dean's hand. "That one gives the person boils filled with pudding. One of my favorites."
Ah, and here was the blushing bride now. "Aww," he said with mock-disappointment, "and here I'd gotten so fond of that dress." Handing he the requested soap with an apologetic look at Dean, George used the momentum to pull Steph in for a kiss. "And hello to you too, dear."
...Your face doesn't even know. No, really, it was brilliance. Insults, at caliber with Deantwelve-year-olds. Which were really one in the same, right there. Dean just rolled his eyes, devoting concentration on the soaps in front of him. Because they were not Steph. And, consequentially, that meant they were not Death. Planning to eat his soul, kill his dog - which... he didn't have, but he could get -, toss him into fiery dooms of volcanoes... Whatever she was planning.
Dangerous pets? ...Jesus, what the hell did this Hagrid guy do in here? Creepy. Because, well, Dean had the guns and knives and everything but it wasn't like he was harboring rogue bees inside here. Or alligators or something. "It does what in the who now?" he responded to George, instead, about the soap, and damn, what kind of hardcore prank war would that make?
Too bad things were ruined. By Hell Princess, the blushing bride. "Oh, no. Not the pink. Or the girly. You are not putting pink shit in my bathroom, man."
"Hi, honey. Thank you for the soap." And with a quick peck to George's cheek, Steph was once again bathroom bound. Because changing in a boy's bathroom? Any boy's bathroom? Made a girl want to wash her hands.
Soap in palm, she spared Dean a quick "Hah!" along with a snort, before stalking to the bathroom sink, unwrapping said pinky, girly, hygene product, and washing her hands quite throughly with it.
Dean had, of course, been trying to hide out in the hut, fighting his way around masses of... girl things all around the hut, in the way and in his stuff, oh, God, ew. Dean couldn't handle this. One second, he's fine! All by himself and going to help the hat with whatever! Then he's married. To Steph. And talk of babies, eugh.
And, you know, now... Death. Following him around every corner, in the form of a rather irritated blond in a tattered wedding dress. ...This was like some bad horror movie or something, he was pretty sure. Women in white and all that jazz. Anyway.
"Nobody's home!" Dean yelled out from the bathroom, door most decidedly locked. "Go away!" Pause. "Wife!"
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"You are the stupidest person that has ever existed in the history of EVER," she shouted, walking right towards the door. Locks? Pah! It would take more than one measly lock to save Dean from Steph's fully justified anger.
She was a Witch, for one! She could Alohomora with the best of them. Not that it was necessary, thanks to what was quite possibly the most useful gift she'd ever received. A ring charmed to open all locks. Bless George and his slightly illegal business pursuits.
Reaching out silently, she opened the door in one swift motion, with a smile that promised very bad things for Dean's well-being.
"Boo."
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Dean was halfway into tugging on his t-shirt when Steph busted in, one arm through a sleeve, the other half up over his head and... Oh, yeah, some definitely deer in the headlights going on right now. How did she... Did she have a... Oh, shit on a stick, this was the most terrifying moment in all of his life.
"Hi...?"
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In the face, in case it wasn't clear.
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"First of all, Hairgel," she said in clipped tones "I will gladly leave this smelly-ass hut once I've got all of my stuff packed up. And if you touched any of my things, I will have to hurt you. Badly."
"Second of all, I have a boyfriend - why the hell would I want to be married to you? I'm the one who's got something to lose, here. You're only pissed off because having a wife gets in the way of you being a Ho."
"Third of all, this is all your fault. Don't yell at me, when I'm the one who was married by some drugged up headwear, and then left to deal with the mess all on my own! That was not cool, Dean! You don't do that to friend!"
Seriously - uncool stuff!
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He was complaining about sparkles? "I would have gladly taken sparkles over this." Steph motioned to her slightly green dress. "You think the suit was rough, this thing has a built in corset." But still, the apology made Steph SLIGHTLY less ready to kill Dean, if only because it didn't seem like something he did that often.
Steph raised an eyebrow. "You, my friend, are a ho with a capital H." Truth. "Look, I need to get out of this dress before I kill someone. I'm commandeering your bathroom - hand me that red suitcase against the wall."
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Oh, she was severely understating the horror that was that disco suit. There had been hideous shades of pastel blue. And sparkles. "Are you for real?" Maybe more flailing, on account of disco. Which, really, if anybody asked, he would have written up as manly gestures in Steph's general direction. Or something. "There were sparkles! A corset does not equal to the horrors that... sparkles have in store. Okay? Okay."
And that was... just not cool. He was totally not a ho, especially with no capitals. Except for the times when he totally was, but we did not speak of those times, mostly because they got Dean laid and he wasn't complaining any time soon. "'Commandeering'? I don't think that's even a freakin' ( ... )
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Steph gave a long suffering sigh. "It's a nautical term. It means me and my girly stuff are taking over your bathroom, so stay the hell out." Then, slamming the door, sounds of scuffling could be heard.
Steph, still fully clothed, peeked her head out of the bathroom, looking abhorred. "Dean, take a note. Guest soaps are your friend."
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"Hello. George Weasley, Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, boyfriend to your blushing bride, and sometimes pack mule. I got a charming note indicating my services were needed." Holding out his hand to Dean, he added, "Also, I was instructed to bring soap. Therefore, I have a selection. We have your normal shower soap, this duck shaped soap I was going to send to my dad, this girly pink stuff my mum'd probably like, and a full range of the WWW specialty soaps, including one that turns your skin blue and one that makes the shower smell like dungbombs." He pulled a box with said soaps out of his knapsack and put it on the counter. "Take your pick ( ... )
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...Who the hell was this guy and how did he get in so easily?
Oh, the boyfriend. Dean shook George's hand in return, although there was a definite shade of wariness tinging his eyes as he glanced the guy over briefly. Seemed harmless enough. Seemed, of course, and Dean had been in this business long enough to know that nothing was what it seemed, not really. "Dean Winchester. ...Forced into wedlock. In need of one less female in this house!" The latter portion, of course, shouted towards the direction of the bathroom
Except huh? "Specialty soap that what?" Where could he get this stuff again? Also, how much, and was it usable on floppy-haired, sixteen feet tall men? Yes? Sweet. Dean was picking at the box of soaps, surveying everything inside as George started... saying something about the hut. "Hagrid? Was that the giant guy that was in here
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While changing into her trusty sweater and jeans combo, Steph took a moment to send a quick note to George. The contents read thusly:
Honey,
COME HELP ME MOVE NOW.
-Steph
P.S. BRING SOAP.
P.P.S. GUEST SOAP.
Buff, being kind of a perv, had finagled his way into the bathroom pre-door slamming. She sighed, and pushed his fat butt out the window.
And damn if the boyfriend wasn't prompt. Steph marched into the living room, and broke her scowling for half a millisecond to give George a smile. "The pink girly one," she demanded, hand outstretched.
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"That was Hagrid," George nodded. "You also have a very definite lack of dangerous pets here, too, so that's another plus!" He pointed to one purple soap near Dean's hand. "That one gives the person boils filled with pudding. One of my favorites."
Ah, and here was the blushing bride now. "Aww," he said with mock-disappointment, "and here I'd gotten so fond of that dress." Handing he the requested soap with an apologetic look at Dean, George used the momentum to pull Steph in for a kiss. "And hello to you too, dear."
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Dangerous pets? ...Jesus, what the hell did this Hagrid guy do in here? Creepy. Because, well, Dean had the guns and knives and everything but it wasn't like he was harboring rogue bees inside here. Or alligators or something. "It does what in the who now?" he responded to George, instead, about the soap, and damn, what kind of hardcore prank war would that make?
Too bad things were ruined. By Hell Princess, the blushing bride. "Oh, no. Not the pink. Or the girly. You are not putting pink shit in my bathroom, man."
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Soap in palm, she spared Dean a quick "Hah!" along with a snort, before stalking to the bathroom sink, unwrapping said pinky, girly, hygene product, and washing her hands quite throughly with it.
Mmm. Smelled like French Rose!
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