sunnydalealum | (no subject)

It's a bigger room, this time. The better to fit two dozen zhirelin in addition to the sorcerers themselves.

The conference room setup this time is much hastier, at Emma's orders. The table's been upended against the wall instead of removed entirely; the blood in the spell diagram is still tacky. Everything's in place, including the two most vital components: the real Kshaartian mandrake, and the Scythe.

Emma's trying hard not to pace as the two red-robed apprentices bend to light the first candles, as the priests in their darker robes begin chanting.

We're in the homestretch. Go. Go. Go.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

gavemea_45

"Oh, I'd agree."

If we show any sign of doubt--

That's all it takes for him to make a snap decision.

"You first."

From:

hopeitsworthit

Dean backs Sam up, like always.

This time he does it by keeping his mouth shut.

One arched eyebrow and his patented 'waiting all day for you to spill' expression should do the trick.

From:

sunnydalealum

"What?"

The glare's masking an unease that's trying to turn into panic, ruthlessly held down.

"I've had authorization for this project for the past eight months. From the highest levels on down. Are you telling me someone's complaining now?"

From:

gavemea_45

"Why else would we be here?"

Don't give her time to answer that.

"Let's just say there are some people who have serious... concerns."

Like stopping that spell.

From:

hopeitsworthit

Dean casts a gimlet eye around the room, marking the setup and the company.

"Lookin' at what you've got goin' on here, I'm starting to think they've got a point."

He's certainly not a big fan.

For starters.

From:

sunnydalealum

"Then they go through channels," she bites off, "and put a hold on the project in a timely manner, not at the last minute --"

From:

gavemea_45

"-- and give you time to finish before the channels can stop you, isn't that right?" Sam cuts in.

"Lucky for you that we got word of what was going on."

From:

hopeitsworthit

Dean just smirks.

A lot.

From:

sunnydalealum

"Lucky for me," Emma repeats, flat and trying for sardonic. "How's that?"

She throws a glance at the robed sorcerers, still standing in their little clutch at the far end of the room, making no move to interfere.

From:

gavemea_45

"Because you were about to make a mistake."

The sorcerers are all in a clump; the spell's drawn on the floor in front of them; the Scythe's on the table almost within reach.

He trades a look with Dean.

From:

hopeitsworthit

"Wouldn't even have to be a big one, would it?"

Dean's still grinning, but this time it has a nasty edge.

He also takes a couple steps away from Sam, head cocked.

He's betting an evil law firm ain't big on forgive and forget.

And he's also betting everyone in this room knows it.

From:

sunnydalealum

Acidly: "Well, golly gee, I should be just overwhelmed with gratitude that you two've come to save me from my folly."

She folds her arms, to stop her hands from shaking.

"You want to tell me who's authorized the hold? Or who's called for it?"

From:

gavemea_45

Good question.

"Not really."

One casual step forward, toward Emma... and not-so-incidentally toward the table, as well.

"I'd have thought you'd have figured out that you didn't know everything when we showed up with another one of those." Sam nods toward the Scythe.

From:

hopeitsworthit

"Tunnel-vision, man."

Dean shakes his head, still smirking.

It's a good look on him.

"What're you gonna do?"

He's another step closer to the spell circle.

And, you know, to the demons.

From:

sunnydalealum

Her gaze tracks from Sam to the Scythe to Dean and back again, and her eyes narrow.

"I'm gonna ask to see your authorization," she says, and there's a new note of tension in her voice. Of suspicion.

"Twelve years at this company and I haven't failed a loyalty check yet. My record's spotless. So you show me your signed order, or you give me a name and I'll call in and confirm it, or you give me some evidence you're not a practical joke from R&D. Or I call Security."

From:

hopeitsworthit

"Well, lady," Dean says, grinning fit to break something, "I'm guessin' you're gonna want to get on your phone right about--"

He moves, crouching down to brush one sweat-damp hand over a few of the more critically-placed lines of powdered bone. And if he happens to hit a couple candles, too, good on him. God, death-magic sucks.

"--now."

Here's hoping Sam's got his act together. Otherwise, they're fucked.

From:

gavemea_45

The second Dean starts to crouch, Sam's moving.

Got to get to it before they--

He leaps forward across the now-broken spell circle, toward the table and the Scythe, and snatches it up as he spins back to face the demons... who are now at the third point of a triangle that includes himself and Dean.

From:

sunnydalealum

Emma was half-expecting this already.

Which is why she's already moving, throwing herself behind the upended table for what scant protection it may offer, and shouting "They don't walk out of this room! Nobody leaves this room!"

The robed demons spread out slightly, turning the triangle into more of an oblong, and one steps forward with a resigned air of oh, not this again.

From:

hopeitsworthit

Dean dodges left, hitting the floor with his shoulder and rolling into a crouch.

One hand's got a flask of holy water in it, the other--

Yep, you guess it.

--the other one's got a gun.

He throws the holy water first, figuring either way it'll probably buy them a second or two of time.

If not more.

From:

comm-npc-2.livejournal.com

The first demon gestures with a turquoise-scaled hand, almost contemptuously.

The water splashes against nothing in midair, and falls pattering to the floor. (Some of it lands on one of the streaks of blood, and hisses and smokes like acid.)

Meanwhile, another demon -- this one with a dark red complexion and elaborate, calligraphy-like paint on its face -- advances on Sam.

From:

gavemea_45

Fuck.

It's noted and dismissed in the same instant; Sam's circling sideways, the Scythe held between himself and the demon in a grip that shows he knows what he's doing.

He's not a Slayer, it won't respond to him in any real power-related sort of way, but it's still a good weapon in his hands.

Can't give him time to cast anything -- what the hell kind of things are these guys anyway?

They're not like anything he and Dean saw in LA before, but there's something ticking at the back of his mind, something...

("The ones I've seen are actually a lot shaggier than that.")

... and just like that, he's got it. Books in a library, a Watcher's Library, including a bunch about demons and one about things from another place entirely--

"Dean, these guys are from Pylea!" Sam calls. "Head shots won't work--"

And with that he suits actions to words, slamming a strike at the lower gut of the sorcerer in front of him.

From:

sunnydalealum

The sorcerer leaps aside to dodge the strike, with only limited success; the Scythe cuts a slit through the red robes, and a few threads of purple-brownish blood begin to seep through.

It's not a mortal wound, or even close to one, but the demon snarls -- more in rage than in pain. He brings up both hands in a peculiar gesture, as though holding an invisible ball and crushing it between his palms.

Yellow light blooms in the empty space, and rapidly intensifies into an eye-searing glare. There's barely time to see that it's happening before the core of light shoots out a beam at Sam.

From:

hopeitsworthit

You know how sometimes people do dumbass shit?

And it bites them in the ass?

Yeah?

That goddamn sorcerer just did something really fucking stupid.

Here's hoping Pyleans don't need dicks to reproduce. Or, you know, internal organs.

Dean remembers his info on Pylea, too, and he's always been a damn good shot.

He's moving again a second later--no sense being a stationary target. He can't afford to get put down until he's sure Sammy's all right.

From:

comm-npc-2.livejournal.com

... yeah, that's a mortal wound.

The beam dissipated harmlessly with the death of its caster, which is a good thing; it passed about a foot away from Sam, but that was close enough to leave the equivalent of a bad sunburn on his arm. He'll be feeling that later.

Meanwhile, though, two of the blue-scaled ones are moving in on Dean. They gesture in unison, and --

The wall shakes as Dean hits it hard, pinned to it in a spread-eagle.

From:

gavemea_45

He didn't have time to see it coming, but he'd had just enough warning from the movement of the sorcerer's hands to duck aside.

Or to try, at least, although if Dean hadn't shot when he had--

--but then his brother hits the wall hard, pinned there by the demons, and all the color in the room fades under a wave of terror mixed with a red-tinged haze of fury.

"DEAN!"

Only this time, it's not like the nightmares, not like before; this time, he can move, and move he does, yanking the Taurus from under his suit jacket with his right hand and beginning to fire.

(The Scythe's in his left; he'd drop the damn thing except that then all of this would be pointless, wouldn't it? Even as swept up as he is right now, there's a part of Sam Winchester that's clear and cold enough to know that.)

He's firing on the move; he needs cover, or they're both gonna die--

--there's an overturned table.