Sam lingered by the bar, taking long drags of his beer as he mentally went through a list of spirits and demons and demi-gods in his head and wondered just which of them, if any, would get a kick out of people telling the truth. Well, obviously, the Trickster. But he was starting to wonder if maybe some demon or spirit was trying to feed off energy.
And he was officially thinking way too much about work considering it was his sort-of-birthday and he needed to quit that.
"Sam," Ginger says when she spots him and she crosses the room to stand in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest as she stares at him, expecting him to say something. Today has been strange, she's been talking openly and saying things she doesn't want to say and for a moment, she thinks she's going to blame Sam.
Instead, she says, "You're pathetic, but I don't want to hurt you and it's weird."
"Uh..." Sam blinked, not sure what to say about that as he looked right back at her. "Thanks?" he managed, not exactly sure what you said in reply to 'you're pathetic'. "I'm glad you don't want to hurt me?"
"You're not a perv and I don't think you're a criminal, even if you are going to be celibate for the rest of your life and I think I like that about you," she continues, wishing for something to just make her stop. "This is fucked, right? That I keep saying this sort of stuff?"
She's aware it's his birthday or something and she thinks she should probably wish him a happy birthday, even though she doesn't have a present.
Ever since that day he'd found Dean outside the hut cleanin' all those guns, John Winchester had been unsettled, more damned unsettled than he'd been in a long time. Dean had left, presumably to go shack up with Bobby for a time, as had Sam. It was probably better that way.
Hearing those words outta Dean's mouth, learning how Dean had thrown away John's sacrifice like he had-- it was too close. All of it.
It'd been a damned long time since John had fallen off the wagon spectacularly, though he was planning on it today. Didn't matter that he wasn't talking to his sons. He'd move on.
John always did.
Oblivious to what the hell was going on around him, John made a beeline for the bar and got himself the closet thing they had to JD.
Sam set his jaw tightly and cleared his throat as he wandered closer to John Winchester, trying not to appear too pissed-off or too petulant and he just hovered nearby. "Dad," he acknowledged evenly.
"Thanks," Sam said quietly, managing a terse smile, but not really looking very pleased. "You and Dean talked, at all? You know, since you kicked him out of the house?"
Ginger doesn't do parties. She's never done parties, not back home and definitely not here, but she's here in anyway, standing at the outskirts of the party, watching the people mill about with drinks. Holding an untouched drink of her own, she just watches and tries not to speak much because every time she opens her mouth, she says something honest.
It's annoying and it makes her miss Brigitte even more than before.
Seeing Ginger at the party was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. Angua wasn't quite sure how she felt about the girl, but there was an undeniable connection between them, and Angua wanted to watch out for Ginger. Even if it was just to protect her from herself.
Ginger turns at the voice and immediately frowns, because even though Angua understands a hell of a lot about the shit Ginger's gone through, she doesn't want to admit to her that she's killed people. "Hi," she answers, looking down at her drink. "So you know Sam?"
This is one of those days, hazy and distant, that every turn I feel like it must be a dream. A really bad fucking dream, too coherent and linear to be anything but real, but it's easier to get lost in the surreality of it. I keep expecting my own heart to be in my hand, since I obviously reached in and yanked it out myself.
So, this isn't exactly a good day. This isn't a day I'm really in the mood for partying, and I'm about to shuffle past the Hub, when I see booze and think maybe I can at least get away with swiping a little and going back to the hut to wallow on my own.
Mamet's already at the bar. He doesn't know what the party's for, just that there seems to be one, and he's always down for some free booze in a party atmosphere.
"Hey, Neil," he greets with an easy smile when Neil comes wandering over.
"Hey, man," I say with a sigh, wandering closer with my hands in my pockets and offering up the best smile I can. It's not much, but it's something, I guess.
Angua had heard about the party from Sam himself. She was flattered to be invited, though she didn't have a present ready. Regardless she felt as though she could use a nice friendly gathering, so she came.
She lingered at the bar, some fruity drink of unknown ingredients in hand, and watched the crowd.
He'd seen her on his way out of the compound. All the others too, but the rest of them he could care less about. Not that he cared what she did with her time... much.
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And he was officially thinking way too much about work considering it was his sort-of-birthday and he needed to quit that.
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Instead, she says, "You're pathetic, but I don't want to hurt you and it's weird."
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She's aware it's his birthday or something and she thinks she should probably wish him a happy birthday, even though she doesn't have a present.
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Hearing those words outta Dean's mouth, learning how Dean had thrown away John's sacrifice like he had-- it was too close. All of it.
It'd been a damned long time since John had fallen off the wagon spectacularly, though he was planning on it today. Didn't matter that he wasn't talking to his sons. He'd move on.
John always did.
Oblivious to what the hell was going on around him, John made a beeline for the bar and got himself the closet thing they had to JD.
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Lifting up his glass of amber liquor, he said, "Happy birthday, son," and quickly sent it down the hatch.
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It's annoying and it makes her miss Brigitte even more than before.
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"Hey..."
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Gods, well she hadn't meant to say all that, but no matter, he was sweet. Very earnest.
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This is one of those days, hazy and distant, that every turn I feel like it must be a dream. A really bad fucking dream, too coherent and linear to be anything but real, but it's easier to get lost in the surreality of it. I keep expecting my own heart to be in my hand, since I obviously reached in and yanked it out myself.
So, this isn't exactly a good day. This isn't a day I'm really in the mood for partying, and I'm about to shuffle past the Hub, when I see booze and think maybe I can at least get away with swiping a little and going back to the hut to wallow on my own.
No harm in that, right?
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"Hey, Neil," he greets with an easy smile when Neil comes wandering over.
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Figures there'd be people I know here.
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She lingered at the bar, some fruity drink of unknown ingredients in hand, and watched the crowd.
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He'd seen her on his way out of the compound. All the others too, but the rest of them he could care less about. Not that he cared what she did with her time... much.
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"Hello, dear. It's Sam's birthday," she said, tilting her glass toward the birthday boy.
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