|| With These Ropes Tied Tight Can We Do No Wrong : Closed Log ||

[surfaceshine]

Who: Dean Winchester, Viserys Targaryen, and David Harris
What: David has a temper and a grudge, Dean has no allies and a smart mouth, and Viserys wants to be a spy.  I mean king.
When:  After this, this, and this, now with timelapse creeper stalking.
Where:  Level 6, somewhere quiet
Warnings:  Dean cusses a copious amount and David means to do him

Comments

[wakethedragon]

Viserys could have recited Dean's schedule like the names of the dragons he had once recited for his father. Day after day of the exact same routine. Then the two days came, and he had to find a way to keep an eye on Dean's door without having an expanse of Barge to use as an excuse, should he be confronted. He spent time in the gym, or whatever that room was called, observing people until he could ape what they were doing. He enjoyed punching the large, heavy bag and pretending it was a Lannister. It was very tiresome very quickly, especially when he had to keep running out to check on the idiot locked in his room. Why was he even in there?

What was his damned 'warden item'? That was all he need to know to end this ridiculous game, but so far, he hadn't seen the surly creature carrying anything that looked remotely warden item-like. He never went above deck. When he finally left his room, Viserys tried to recall all things still and shadow-like as he followed him, but he had to stay close enough to know where he was doing. A bag didn't tell him much.

[surfaceshine]

Dean had set up that schedule carefully, giving Viserys solid reason to think he would be in certain places at certain times and noting in reverse where his shadow had a habit of showing up so he could plan his countermeasure and maybe get some information; that was all blown to shit now, of course, but Dean still knew how to confront someone poking around where they really, really shouldn't be. He glanced both ways down an intersection of hallway to try and catch sight of Viserys from the corner of his eye; once he was sure the other man was back there, he moved quickly down the staircase in an attempt to force his pursuer to pick up his pace, too, and maybe miss the fact that the young hunter had turned the corner to the right and then pressed himself back against the wall within range of the end of the stairwell.

Quietly lowering his duffel to the floor with his right hand, his left is ready to scruff the next person to appear from the stairs, if he can at all.

Elsewhere...

[sixthanimorph]

There's usually plenty of light in David's room, but tonight his lights are dim. His computer sits dark and ignored, as does his communicator and even his beloved television. There's only one device in the room that has his attention, and he sits hunched over his desk, turning it over and over in his hands thoughtfully. There's not a part of this strange alien machine he hasn't examined, but he's no closer to unlocking its secrets than he was when he first got it. David runs one finger over the grooved disc before popping it out of the device and lifting it closer. A sound of deep thought hums softly in his throat.

"Viserys asked me to get my wish and I got you..." David murmurs to no one in particular, tapping one finger on his desk in a metronome's steady rhythm. "But I wanted the blue box. You're something else. You're... a key."

How he knows that, David, can't say, but it sounds right. It feels right. A key to a lock he can't see, to a door he doesn't know, but a key just the same.

Setting the disc back into the device, David rubs his eyes. A quick glance at the red digital clock on his desk tells him he's been sitting and staring at this thing for almost an hour. Shaking his head wearily, he stands up. Whatever kind of key this device is, he's not gonna find out how to work it like this.

Crossing the room in a few steps, David grabs a jacket and throws it on. He'll go grab some food and come back to it. Maybe a burger will give him some perspective.

[wakethedragon]

Viserys tiptoed down the staircase, but he had lost sight of the warden. Seven hells. He probably should have spent more time getting to know the Barge before pursing this fool's errand, but wishful thinking wasn't going to help him now.

He was as quiet as possible as he neared the bottom of the staircase, trying to look in all directions at once. People didn't just disappear into thin air, he had to be somewhere.

[surfaceshine]

Dean is not renowned for his patience, but he's a seasoned hunter; he manages to get the duffel onto the floor nearly silently, the noise he makes certainly not enough to hide the fact that he can hear Viserys coming, albeit quietly, to the bottom of the stairs and slowing. The dark hazelgreen eyes are locked on the line of the wall, partially unfocused so he can concentrate more on reacting to movement, any movement, than on recognizing what it is; every line of his body is tense and ready.

The moment there's movement that Dean can see, the hunter will move to grab it. If he succeeds, he'll haul the man on out here where he can... have a talk. If he misses, he'll deal with that when it happens.

[wakethedragon]

Viserys frowned as he reached the last step. The frown was more of a scowl. He should know where this brooding idiot was going first after hiding in his room for two days, and now he had lost him.

He couldn't let Cat know. Still, it wasn't his fault the idiot had practically ran down the stairs. You couldn't sneak after someone and chase them at the same time. He stepped down onto the flat floor, looking straight ahead, craning his neck a bit. Maybe he was just ahead, and he hadn't lost him after all.

[surfaceshine]

It takes what feels like forever, and yet Dean isn't quite marking the passage of time, so maybe no time at all until the movement he's seeking is flickering at the corner of the wall. He gives it a moment more and just as the platinum blonde head leans into view, the young hunter ducks slightly to adjust his center of balance and charges into action.

Dean is broad of shoulder and lean of muscle, and his adrenaline is up; it shouldn't be any trouble at all for him to find a grip in the front of Viserys' shirt and haul him around the corner, there to slam his back, probably rather more firmly than strictly necessary but by no means over the top yet, into the wall and hold him there.

"Hello," he says, smiling a hard smile.

OOC: If I need to change anything in here, please, please let me know - will do immediately! <3

[wakethedragon]

It all happens so fast. There's a hand and motion as he's yanked around the corner and shoved into the wall. Then he stares and blinks rather stupidly into the face of the warden he's been spying on. For a moment, there's fear. Uncertainty.

He recovers quickly.

"How dare you!" he sputters. "Unhand me this instant! Do you know who I am?"

[surfaceshine]

If he's honest, Dean finds that brief flicker of fear satisfying; he's not looking at that too hard, but it soothes a part of him still raw and battered, eased by the righteous angle of this guy being the one following him, not the other way around. He'd kill for an excuse to just gank the shit out of something evil right now, but he'll settle for menacing some guy in the wrong place at the wrong time by his own choice.

The smile doesn't waver, and Dean shows absolutely no inclination whatsoever to unhand anyone. In fact he shakes the man a little, just barely, to try to cut off the tantrum.

"No, I don't - why don't you start with telling me? And then you can tell me why you've been following me." The young hunter makes his voice pleasant, but his eyes are hard and cold.

[wakethedragon]

"I am Viserys of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm!" he hissed. He wanted to claw the barbarian's eyes from his head for daring to manhandle him, he could feel his blood rising hot, the dragon waking, rising, breathing brimstone. No one touches the Dragon.

But he wasn't a threat, he didn't want to be perceived as a threat, he just wanted that Seven-damned box so he could have power and that fear he needed to help him take back the Iron Throne. "My business is my own," he sniffed, forcing the dragon to stay down. It wasn't easy. He wanted to spit in this idiot's face. He wanted to rage.

[surfaceshine]

Dean, of course, never owning much of an attention span on a good day, loses interest about three names in and starts bobbing his head impatiently side to side, though he doesn't take his eyes of Viserys. By the time the other man has gotten around to turning down his very polite, very reasonable question, Dean kind of wants to slam him against the wall again. He doesn't.

"No," he corrects, blithely. "Your business became my business when you made my business your business. I mean, I know it's a nice ass, but I don't swing that way. So I'm gonna ask you one more time and then I'm gonna start asking in a different way: What gives?"

[wakethedragon]

"Nice--what?" He glares at the fool and nearly lets the dragon have at him. How dare this imbecile think he was looking at his ass. He was nothing but common trash. "I don't like what you're implying. I also don't like your tone. You will address me with respect, or you won't address me at all."

[surfaceshine]

"Hey," snaps Dean, and because now he really does want to slam Viserys back into the wall, he does. Not hard. Just enough to maybe jar some sense into him, because really - if anyone should be making demands, it's not the guy pinned to the wall. "Too fucking bad, Princey-Poo. You want someone with a better tone and a brighter outlook on life, you shoulda picked someone else to stalk."

Dean's voice is low and rough, but it's not until he's forced to repeat himself a third time that there's a bit too much tooth flashing with his deliberate enunciation of each syllable: "I'm about to lose patience here, slick. Why. Are you following me."

And okay, because it kind of made him feel better, maybe another bump against the wall. Not hard. Not yet.

[wakethedragon]

And Viserys snaps. Whether it was the first shove, the 'Princey-Poo,' the second shove, or some combination of the three, the dragon rages and the would-be king no longer cares to stop it. He headbutts Dean with a growl, or at least he makes the attempt.

{OOC: If he's pinned too tightly for headbutting action, feel free to have him growling and squirming like a moron!}

[surfaceshine]

"...the hell?" Dean isn't quite sure what's happening under his hands, but whatever it is, he wasn't quite expecting it and that's how the crown of Viserys's head glances off the hunter's neck while he's trying to figure it out. He'd actually been half convinced it was some kind of seizure until that happened, and now - not quite fazed by the blow, in fact more baffled than anything - it's... Oh.

Oh, they're supposed to be fighting now.

Obligingly, Dean doesn't feel terribly bad about transferring his hold on Viserys's front to a one-fisted hold and cocking the other back for a punch. He doesn't put much muscle into it, he's not trying to break the kid, but he's a bit careless today by dint of his bad mood.

"Settle down!"

[wakethedragon]

"Unhand me!" Viserys shrieks and squirms and kicks out with both legs, which only makes more of his weight reliant on Dean's grip.