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cholesterolWELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
DEAN
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(this inbox is a choose-not-to-warn experience, please read at your own discretion.)
cholesterolWELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
DEAN
text ❖ audio ❖ video
(this inbox is a choose-not-to-warn experience, please read at your own discretion.)
no subject
Date: 2025-10-05 12:09 am (UTC)Give me an hour. We're taking care of Cas' body.
Getting it down.
But. Our shop. The back, though. Turn the sign around. We can sit on the cot.
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Date: 2025-10-05 06:07 am (UTC)Shit. I'm taking a look at Homelander's. Wouldn't hurt to compare notes when we're through, maybe. You sure - you want to be there for it?
[about an hour later though, dean will find the sign turned around and the lights low, window cracked to let a trickle of smoke pass through. hawk's got a cigarette between his fingers and a bottle of half-drunk whiskey, though it hasn't been sipped recently. his face is pulled tight with concern, wondering what kind of shape dean will be in when he gets here. but it'll smooth into something easy and casual when the door is closed behind him - trying to find the balance between reassurance, reminiscing of the last time they were alone like this, and respect for the dead.]
You wanna talk about it, or you wanna drink and forget about it?
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Date: 2025-10-05 08:19 am (UTC)Am I sure? Yeah, I'm sure.
( the flicker of low lighting beckons him inside. he passes through the front area, fighting a latent urge to grab up his knife again and get to work. he ignores flashes of his time as a butcher and his time with hawk as he joins the former soldier.
he's had some to drink with Parisa, but he's not sloshed. a layer of buzz carries him down to the other side of the cot as he answers.
He will take the bottle of whiskey, though, and speak before he takes a precious sip. )
Don't know what there is to talk about. Nobody knew we were friends. He woke up in my tent, but that was all. Been buried in blood and meat for a month, so we didn't have a chance to make each other friendship bracelets. If they're trying to get at me, they're doing a damn good job.
( He outstretches his other arm, flexing his hand. Wanting something in it. He wants to take something apart.
He resists the urge. )
You lose anyone up there?