trans_9 | The touching story of a boy and his car. [Open]

He heard something about the hangar on the comms, and about ships there. Could there be vehicles? Dean made his way there with some hope and trepidation. He glanced around, and then he spied a familiar tire wheel. And that shape under the tarp, could it? He whipped it off, and then a large grin just about split his face.

"Oh baby have I missed you." He rubbed his hand over her hood, and gave the Impala an affectionate pat before fishing his keys out of the plantsuit pocket. He got inside, and shut the door before starting her engine. Man, he never thought he'd hear the purr from her 427 engine again. It had to be one of the sweetest sounds he's heard since he got here. He revved the engine a little with gentle pressure on the accelerator, before putting his foot on the brake again. He then switched the engine off, and relaxed in his seat.

He was going to ride her in a little bit, but he wanted to do an inventory check. He got up, and went to check the hood, everything looked good there. Then the trunk. Oh yeah, got the arsenal right here. Even a few EMF detectors, rock salt, and good, some holy water. Might come in handy. He had one weapon with him, but now he could feel a little more prepared. Still had to get that phaser back to Worf too. Especially now he had all this. He flipped on the detector, and his face immediately frowned when there was a small reaction.

"Awww, come on! Ghost ship? That movie sucked!" He grimaced, and grabbed some rock salt rounds just in case before shutting the trunk lid again. Better go to check into this further.

End of the universe, and got another hunt anyway.

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The little girl wandering around the hangar deck might be an interesting obstacle in the way of that hunt.

Hands in two of the many pockets of her oversized denim jacket, she looks up at Dean.

Dean did in fact stop in his tracks for a moment.

"Sorry, kid. Grownup on an important mission," he remarked in a friendly fashion before moving to one side of her.

"What mission?" Roxie asks, doing that annoying probably-accidental shuffling-right-into-the-other-person's-path-while-trying-to-get-out-of-the-way thing.

"Important grownup mission. Why don't you just hang out here?" He was still trying to get around her, and getting a little annoyed.

She keeps up with the annoying trying-to-shuffle-out-of-his-way-that-just-gets-more-in-the-way. "Age discrimination isn't very nice," she comments absently.

"Look, it's not safe. Stay put."

She finally lets Dean by, but she moves to follow after him if he keeps going.

"I've dealt with plenty of dangerous things before."

Which he was indeed still walking. Trying to let his strides get him away from her.

Dean then spun around to stare down at her, "Yeah? Like what? This isn't like bullies stealing your Barbies. There's bad things out there."

Roxie pulls a little silver bell on a chain from around her neck, where it was hidden by the jacket.

It flicks between her fingers and very suddenly turns into a huge silver mace (http://www.hartlepool.gov.uk/downloads/Item_No.30.JPG), slung up over one of her shoulders.

"Dangerous things."

Dean took a step back at the weapon, and then gave an admiring nod. Ok, maybe she's different.

"Not bad, real silver right? You hiding any iron or salt on you too? Otherwise only gonna help with things like shifters."

The mace flickers back away into the little bell and she hides it on the chain around her neck again.

"I have many things," she says, with the same neutral tone she usually has. "That's why I have all my pockets."

Another appraising look back at her.

"Ok, how old are you really?"

"Fourteen."

She looks more like twelve, but that's just from being a late bloomer.

Uh-huh. Still kind of young, though he was going to hunts with his dad by then. Too young for solo hunts.

"Ever dealt with ghosts before?"

"That depends on what you're talking about when you say 'ghost'."

She's dealt with a lot of stuff. Incorporeal spirits are at the bottom of the list, though.

"Restless spirits, real fugly ones too. Like to drag the living into the afterlife with them? Usually got to salt and burn the corpse to get rid of them, any of this sounding familiar?"

"I have dealt with many types of creatures. Few have had separate manifestations from the body itself."

Which is to say, no.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, "So that's a no. Great."

"I adapt quickly. And I've recently engineered a weapon to cut spirits."

"Yeah? You got it with you?" He brightened at that. Because seriously? New toy to take down spirits. Definitely want!

Roxie pulls a wood-handled, gold-filigreed carving knife from inside of her jacket. (Heck, how did it even fit in there without cutting her?)

"It's only a prototype piece, but I'd like the chance to see how well it does."

Dean studied the blade for a moment. Good grip and heft to it by the look of it. "Iron or spellwork on it at all?" He leaned over to peer closer, looking for any sigils, runes, or other markings. Or traces of special blood the blade could be dipped in.

The filigree forms into strange whorls and patterns—looking closely, it seems almost baked right into the metal, rather than simply added as a surface layer. The edge is nicely sharp, but there's nothing obvious supernatural about it.

"The magic is folded into the core. The goldwork acts as a conductor to reduce the risk of unwanted flashback."

"Not bad," he nodded, still observing the blade. Though he wasn't going to say it's great until he saw it in action.

Speaking of which, "Come on, we got to get a move on if you're tagging along."

Roxie slips the long knife back away into her jacket, and moves to silently follow Dean.

Dean nodded, and then without further waiting, started to walk ahead. Outside the hanger, he checked the EMF monitor again. He glanced down the hall.

"You haven't had any weird run ins have you? Besides the zombies?"

"There's a god bound within a structure in the city level that wants to escape and either eat or corrupt us all," Roxie says matter-of-factly.

The touching story of a boy and his car. [Open]

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