trans_9 | [OPEN] Getting Back Into the Groove [R for cussing most likely]

Where has Dean been, do you ask?

Well, for one, he's been relaxing. That mission thing? Ridiculous. Dean's pretty sure he's not going to be emotionally traumatized, because hell, obviously he's been through worse, but man, that was one hell of a trip. So he's in the mindset of believing that yes, he deserves some downtime. That's why he's in the Sensoriums, his favorite usual hang out on the giant meatship. The room's turned into Bobby's junkyard again, only this time he's got his Impala. He's working on fixing the problems he'd told Stacy to program into the car, and really, this is probably the most relaxing thing he's done in a while.

Of course, he wouldn't mind having some company. He's thinking about seeing if Stacy can conjure him up a Bobby, just to have someone to banter with, but he hasn't really decided yet. So at the moment, he's under the hood of the Impala, messing with something with a wrench while Led Zeppelin's You Shook Me plays from a boombox nearby. He may or may not be singing along as he works.

Life is good.

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"I admit, I do not live in a magical world," Chaucer tells him, trying not to smirk, "but I cannot attest as such for all the others here. In fact, I could safely begin to believe in anything short of fairies. Those, I doubt I will ever see."

A long pause to consider.

"Except maybe you."

Watch out, Chaucer, flying dishtowel covered with grease incoming! Dean aimed right for Chaucer's face, hoping it hits, rolling his eyes and thinking he's nice for not throwing the wrench instead.

"No wonder you get your ass kicked all the time."

Words are Chaucer's strong suit, and then walking, and then running, and then nothing suited for public; dodging is right down there at the very bottom of the list, along with 'winning when there's a bet involved.' To be honest, he doesn't even try.

"Fonged," he corrects absently, peeling the rag off with a grimace of distaste. "I get my ass fonged with great regularity."

But he's grinning now that the dish towel's not clinging to him, and he amiably tosses it back to Dean.

Success! Dean doesn't quite cackle, but it's close. It makes him feel better to see the towel hit Geoff straight in the face. Not only is his aim perfect, but he gets that sense of satisfaction as well.

Also, Dean has a dirty mind.

"You do know that word makes that sentence into something really dirty sounding, right?" Dean asks, snickering.

He catches the towel, and tosses it over his shoulder without bothering to see where it lands.

Blinking in a surprisingly straight-faced attempt at appearing innocent, Geoff shrugs. "No, sir, I had no idea."

"And why, precisely, does it sound dirty?" Sometimes culture clash can be fun.

Dean raises an eyebrow.

"... Are you really gonna make me explain this to you?"

"I don't understand your society."

He is so obviously taking the piss, Dean. Of course he knew what it sounded like.

Dean stares at Chaucer for a long minute, and then laughs, shoving Chaucer playfully.

"You little bitch, you do too know what it means." Dean jokes, grinning.

Chaucer grins, shuffling a little when he's shoved. "Of course I know what it means, I'm a writer."

"That's a codeword for sneaky bastard," Dean rolls his eyes, but he's only teasing. Going back to his car, he leans over it again and fiddles with one of the parts.

"So did you see the teams posted?"

"Teams?" Geoff wanders over to watch what Dean's doing. "No, I believe I missed that."

He's not doing anything special, just readjusting one of the parts inside the car to see if it'll make it run.

"Apparently we've all been assigned to teams for the next... missions. Or whatever we're supposed to be doing here," Dean explains. "Me n' Sam are on Team Echo. Dunno what you're on, but it's not ours."

He sounds vaguely irritated about that.

"Am I not?" Geoff frowns a moment, sorting through what that could mean. But then, it probably means nothing. Just that his skills are better suited elsewhere, or someone needed to even out numbers.

"Perhaps I will be with Sir Sparhawk, or the Chief, or Inspecteur Javert." Or someone else who he doesn't know, and who he won't be able to communicate with.

Still, it can't be too bad.

Dean doesn't really like what that means. He knows, obviously, that Geoff can handle things and he's not a kid, and that there are others who would make sure everybody was alright, but it still bothers him. Dean can't keep an eye on Chaucer if they're on separate teams.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean grumbles, jerking at the part he's been fiddling with too hard. It makes a groaning sound and Dean lets go of it like it's on fire. Or like it shocked him.

"Ow, fuck--" Dean cusses, shaking his hand to the side.

"What did you do?" Geoff asks immediately, in the same tone he uses with Wat, Will, and his children. It's patient, calm, concerned, and obviously well-used.

"Nothing, just wasn't paying attention," Dean grits out, kneading his hand against his hip. It's gone temporarily numb, but he's done this before, so it's not a big deal.

"Just zapped me."

"Zapped?"

Geoff's not overly worried. He's seen people pull large chunks of wood out of themselves, after all. He just doesn't know what 'zap' means.

It sounds vaguely like 'fong,' and makes him wonder why he associates so much with people who say nonsense words.

Dean snorts. "Zapped. Like... electric shock. You've seriously never heard that before, or are you pulling my leg again?"

"I'm barely familiar with the notion of electricity," Chaucer reminds him patiently.

"Oh. Right," Dean says, like it just barely occurred to him. "Alright. So when you plug something in, and then screw around with the wire, the electricity zaps you. And it hurts. Like a mother."

Dean's trying to explain it without sounding like he's talking to a little kid, which is hard to do without any sort of sarcasm. Aren't you proud of him, Chaucer?

Chaucer is very proud of him, especially considering he would have immediately fallen to smart-alec remarks and sarcasm himself if presented with a similar situation.

He listens with equal patience, nodding, and then finds his equivalent. "Like very small lightning? Or perhaps when one isn't mindful of their candle and it starts a small fire on their desk?"

Not that that's ever happened, mind.

Dean grins at him. "Right, exactly like that. Electricity can start small fires, too. Just like that candle."

Of course not.

[OPEN] Getting Back Into the Groove [R for cussing most likely]

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