(Untitled)

[born_in_blood]

Who: Dexter Morgan, Alastair, Aziraphale, and John Winchester; CLOSED. (If you'd like to join, feel free to ping me at 'saint kari marie' on AIM.)
Where: Alastair's room.
When: Early morning -- 3:00 AM.
What: Dexter chops Alastair to pieces with great efficiency.
Warnings: Serious violence. I'm not kidding!

Comments

[cantrunfromme]

It was late in the night but he had no need for sleep, the same biological processes that drove the human mind was no longer a requirement for him.
Alastair stood at the metal tray perusing the assortment of wares he had collected over his short time at the barge; four shards of glass in varied lengths he had pried from his elbow after the failed ritual, a screwdriver acquired from the mentally deranged manchild, a toothbrush he had sharpened to a point using assorted piercing cutlery stolen from the dining area, including several blunt knives, also lain on the table. The instruments where aligned both in category of damage given and material it was made from.

Alastair liked structure.

Alastair prefered order.

When he heard the intense rap at the door he did not stir. Should it be of importance the visitor would announce himself again.

[born_in_blood]

Dexter stood at the door, perplexed. No answer? It was unsettling to him, his Dark Passenger stirring in him with a rumble. We want satisfaction.

He removed himself from his position pressed against the wall and stood in front of the door for a few, silent moments. He rapped another time, louder, more urgently. He spoke hurried, "Alastair? It's Dexter Morgan. Aziraphale wanted me to come and speak with you." He moved back to his spot on the wall.

[cantrunfromme]

His hand traced the handle of the screwdriver. Puncture the skin three inches laterally to the sternocleiomastoid to access the internal carotid. Apply pressure the words clicked over in his head in that continual beat of instruction and technique.

As the man behind the door announced his name (Dexter, somewhat charismatically charming but with a distinct hollowness that he had seen before) and his purpose (Aziraphale, a ball of butter that some deity had pasted feathers to), Alastair swallowed in sheer annoyance. He made his way over to the door and swung it wide open. "What could Aziraphale possibly want you do to do that he couldn't do himself?" He shrilled standing in the archway and supposedly talking to noone. An uninterested look splashed his face as he waited. Should no one reappear he would simply step backwards and slam the door shut.

GOD, WHY IS HE SO CREEPY? WELL DONE.

[born_in_blood]

Dexter waited, holding his breath, silent. He waited. It felt like an eternity and he remained stone. Then, the door cracked, and his heart began to pound.

He waited for a few moments for the door was completely open. He waited to hear the man in the doorway, though he was oddly silent; was he breathing?

Strange.

He immediately sprung into action, positioning himself swiftly behind Alastair, wrapping the piano write tightly around his neck. He was holding the needle full of Etorphine Hydrochloride in two fingers in his right hand, but was hoping he didn't have to use it before Alastair passed out. He gripped the wire tighter. Alastair's skin felt more taught than it should've been.