Der Waffle Haus, Thursday afternoon
Dean went to Der Waffle Haus for his coffee today. Since he was pretty sure if he saw Azzie he'd wanna punch him in the face, and his arm hurt enough already without antagonizing a freaking angel.
He had a bunch of notes about what had attacked Logan last night scribbled haphazardly into his journal and was starting to figure out that, unlike his father, he was far better at figuring these things by talking them out than by writing them down.
Far be it for Dean to drag Sam into it until he knew the kid was safe, though. Which meant figuring out how to kill the thing, first. Which meant he wasn't hashing things out with Sam. Which meant he had to find an . . . alternative option. That wasn't his father.
Kiffany shot him occasional glances when his voice rose too high, and the creepy people who were always in that one booth seemed to be making fun of him. He ignored them in favor of the guy who was already making fun of him, in his own, special way, over the phone.
"No, Bobby, I'm not asking you to come down here, I just want to know if you've ever -- yeah, that's right. Fireballs, teleporting, shapeshifting and/or illusions. Likes to screw with teenaged boys. Possibly literally. And young women, maybe. . . . No, I don't know that it's the same thing -- because I'd rather be after one demon than two different -- yeah, I know. Stupid philosophy. . . . That's a useful trick, can you send me a picture? . . . Yep. There's a library, I can get internet. . . . Oh don't you start, too. I don't have the money to 'get with the times', you cranky old bastard. . . . Yeah. Thanks, Bobby. And, um. Do me a favor? . . . Okay, fine, do me another favor. . . . Don't tell Dad."
Dean held the phone away from his face for a moment, then brought it back when he was pretty sure Bobby'd be done cursing. "I mean it." He held the phone away again. "No, seriously, Bobby --" And again. "Come on, like you've never kept a secret from him? . . . Yeah, that's what I thought. And I'm not some punk kid in over his head. . . . Okay, fine, any more. . . ." He rolled his eyes, glad the older man couldn't see it. "Please. . . . You're awesome, Bobby, never change. . . . Yeah, check's in the mail, dickwad."
He hung up and set the phone down next to him. Kiffany appeared as if by magic to refresh his coffee.
"Kiffany." He grinned at her. "You're the best waitress on the face of the planet. I love you."
"You want anything to eat, honey?"
Dean thought for a moment, looking over his notes. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be great. . . . You got muffuletta?"
[ooc: open.]
He had a bunch of notes about what had attacked Logan last night scribbled haphazardly into his journal and was starting to figure out that, unlike his father, he was far better at figuring these things by talking them out than by writing them down.
Far be it for Dean to drag Sam into it until he knew the kid was safe, though. Which meant figuring out how to kill the thing, first. Which meant he wasn't hashing things out with Sam. Which meant he had to find an . . . alternative option. That wasn't his father.
Kiffany shot him occasional glances when his voice rose too high, and the creepy people who were always in that one booth seemed to be making fun of him. He ignored them in favor of the guy who was already making fun of him, in his own, special way, over the phone.
"No, Bobby, I'm not asking you to come down here, I just want to know if you've ever -- yeah, that's right. Fireballs, teleporting, shapeshifting and/or illusions. Likes to screw with teenaged boys. Possibly literally. And young women, maybe. . . . No, I don't know that it's the same thing -- because I'd rather be after one demon than two different -- yeah, I know. Stupid philosophy. . . . That's a useful trick, can you send me a picture? . . . Yep. There's a library, I can get internet. . . . Oh don't you start, too. I don't have the money to 'get with the times', you cranky old bastard. . . . Yeah. Thanks, Bobby. And, um. Do me a favor? . . . Okay, fine, do me another favor. . . . Don't tell Dad."
Dean held the phone away from his face for a moment, then brought it back when he was pretty sure Bobby'd be done cursing. "I mean it." He held the phone away again. "No, seriously, Bobby --" And again. "Come on, like you've never kept a secret from him? . . . Yeah, that's what I thought. And I'm not some punk kid in over his head. . . . Okay, fine, any more. . . ." He rolled his eyes, glad the older man couldn't see it. "Please. . . . You're awesome, Bobby, never change. . . . Yeah, check's in the mail, dickwad."
He hung up and set the phone down next to him. Kiffany appeared as if by magic to refresh his coffee.
"Kiffany." He grinned at her. "You're the best waitress on the face of the planet. I love you."
"You want anything to eat, honey?"
Dean thought for a moment, looking over his notes. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be great. . . . You got muffuletta?"
[ooc: open.]