Video

[anewlanguage]

You know, Dean? Dean, you might be right. Maybe half right.

[Some six hours after Barbara's post, Cain is completely stinking drunk. But he's also feeling more sociable, and between swigs or statements he hums a song, occasionally mumbling the lyrics.]

...Hit her foot against a splinter,
Fell into the foaming brine...

I'm not rethinking stopping being a pacifist, but I oughta say I'm feeling like doing target practice, and the boat's not real steady under my feet, you get what I mean. So hurry on down, clear out my gun cache.

Knives, too.

[He takes a healthy swallow from the bottle.]

dreadful sorry, Clementine...

[The feed cuts about halfway through that chorus

Comments

[text/private]

[routemistress]

i'll owe you a favour.

and be really bloody grateful.

please?

[text/private]

[surfaceshine]

I'm not pretending to be his warden

[text/private]

[routemistress]

no, no need to do that, just come hang around and be Dean.

there may be singing.

[text/private]

[surfaceshine]

I'm not your Dean

I'm sorry

[text/private]

[routemistress]

thank fuck you aren't. he was bff with Cass and he'd have been a colossal arse about this.

just come.

[text/private]

[surfaceshine]

I'm not singing

and no promises on fighting