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.
"I didn't touch your pink shit, Jesus!" he shot back, throwing up his hands. "And-and, I mean, you're the one that brought up the baby crap in the first place!" But he did feel bad. Steph, whether she'd told the hat about the baby thing or not, definitely didn't deserve to be stuffed in a dress that hideous any more than Dean deserved to be stuffed inside a suit of equally horrific proportions.
Plus, you know, she may or may not have gutted something with the 'not doing that to a friend' part of her speech. Dean was a lot of things, but he was one of the farthest things from disloyal. Just... gaahhh, he'd had to get his ass out of there. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he grunted in return, frowning and rubbing at the back of his head. "There was a friggin' hat, and I was in sparkles, and I was gettin' the fuck out of there, fast as I could."
And he paused, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows at the girl for a few seconds. "An I am not a Ho." Especially not capitalized.
"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' word, what are you talking about?" Not that he wanted to be caught dead in the same bathroom with Steph stripping, and he was already shoving the red suitase towards her.
"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!"
Turning, looking around the hut, he remarked, "Not quite like I remember it. Then again, Hagrid was quite large, so he seemed to take up more space. And there were less alcohol bottles." Huh. "Oi! Steph! You can't get any prettier without it being unfair to the rest of us, so come on out and I'll get your stuff back up to the castle!"
"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 before?"
"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.
"I didn't touch your pink shit, Jesus!" he shot back, throwing up his hands. "And-and, I mean, you're the one that brought up the baby crap in the first place!" But he did feel bad. Steph, whether she'd told the hat about the baby thing or not, definitely didn't deserve to be stuffed in a dress that hideous any more than Dean deserved to be stuffed inside a suit of equally horrific proportions.
Plus, you know, she may or may not have gutted something with the 'not doing that to a friend' part of her speech. Dean was a lot of things, but he was one of the farthest things from disloyal. Just... gaahhh, he'd had to get his ass out of there. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he grunted in return, frowning and rubbing at the back of his head. "There was a friggin' hat, and I was in sparkles, and I was gettin' the fuck out of there, fast as I could."
And he paused, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows at the girl for a few seconds. "An I am not a Ho." Especially not capitalized.
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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' word, what are you talking about?" Not that he wanted to be caught dead in the same bathroom with Steph stripping, and he was already shoving the red suitase towards her.
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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."
Reply
"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!"
Turning, looking around the hut, he remarked, "Not quite like I remember it. Then again, Hagrid was quite large, so he seemed to take up more space. And there were less alcohol bottles." Huh. "Oi! Steph! You can't get any prettier without it being unfair to the rest of us, so come on out and I'll get your stuff back up to the castle!"
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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 before?"
Reply
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.
Reply
"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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