complimentary cockinessStarted by Deanna Winchester (VI) at 29 Dec, 2020 22:13
It all started out as a standard hustle. Deanna googled bars near Stanford that weren't too highly rated, changed to her shortest and tightest denim shorts, and then popped down to a place with a pool table (or in this case, two). She sat, ordered an apple cider, kept an eye on the games, and tried to decide which group to con. One table housed gangly looking nerds who played for pennies and weed. On the bright side, they couldn't beat her up afterwards, but grass didn't buy dinner. Second table was louder, surrounded by three linebacker-sized dudes, throwing down $100 bills like there was no tomorrow. The money would be amazing there... and guys like that didn't hit girls, right? Right?
Dee spent the rest of her cider observing the Big Manly Man table, and once she was finished, she ordered 'something with an umbrella', let her hair loose and opened an extra button of her flannel, before sauntering-slash-hobbling to her victi... benefactors. To them, she was some drunk blonde, a bundle of lashes and giggles, with an ass to stare when she bent down to shoot. She lost and lost and lost, yet kept putting money down. Soon, the pot was looking mighty juicy, and Deanna dropped the act. She ran the table - twice in a row - before getting called out.
"Beginner's luck?" the young woman suggested as the questions and accusations started pouring. The innocent act was all but convincing when combined with that damn smirk on her. While she had been about 80% sure these guys wouldn't raise a stink, the odds started going down as the smoke was began rising from the ears of the biggest one of them.
"You duped us!" he yelled, closing in on Deanna. Looming. Big. Wide.
Should've played the nerds.
The blonde tried her best to force the smile on her lips into something less mocking and more reconciliatory, all the while backing away, winnings safely in her wallet. Her fingers twitched, wanting to go for the brass knuckles in her flannel's pocket, but she knew she'd be better off ducking and running, if these guys got hostile. Deanna was good, but would never be 'survive three dudes shaped like Dave Bautista' -good.
"Okay, I know roids do wonders to a temper, but just simmer the fuck down, yea?"
Nothing fun ever happened in Stanford. College towns had a standard amount of drunk and disorderly conduct, but frat boys with weak bladder control just ruined a night, they didn’t make it more interesting. Brady liked going further afield. Around Stanford, things could get a little more exciting. The kind of people around a college town were seedier. They didn’t have to worry about impressing daddy or keeping their grades up. As far as Brady was concerned, the kind of person with nothing to lose made the best victim.
Not that he had a lot victims, these days. Brady played house with Winchester and his girl, which meant not doing anything to challenge the blushing boy’s moral sensibilities. Fine. He didn’t need to kill someone to get his rocks off. Visit the right kind of bar and you could spin a closet case around until he got vertigo. Today was apparently twink night, though, which meant Brady didn’t have anyone he could play with. Twinks all thought they were hot shit, and taking them down a peg required more time than he could spare. Sighing at the injustice of it all, he left the bar feeling frustrated at a wasted trip. Maybe he could find a lonely heart on her fourth ever vodka martini (all in one hour) and leave her cowering in an alley, as a consolation prize.
Before he’d even finished scoping out the selection, Brady’s attention snapped to a familiar voice and face: Deanna Winchester. Of all the bars in all the towns…he smiled, making a beeline for the scuffle. This had seemed like it was going to be a bad night, but the morning star seemed to be smiling upon him. Brady put on his best ‘friendly enforcer’ face; a hint of a paper-thin smile with perfect posture and eyes that said, “Try it.” He fell into step behind Deanna; natural enough. He’d never really know Deanna Winchester, but he’d seen her in action. He knew she could handle herself, and would resent being rescued. He just couldn’t resist the irony, though; he had to do it.
“You heard the lady, shortstack. Unless you’re going to whip it out right here. I wouldn’t mind.”
Brady added a bit of a leer, out of place on the character he was playing. He thought it would have the desired effect, though. The men would either be so confused and dismayed by his involvement that they’d demonstrate just how pathetic they were by backing off, or they’d try it, and he’d get him and Deanna both kicked out of this bar. Either way, he won.
The comment about the steroids seemed to enrage the entire trio (suppose implying they weren't au naturel was hurtful), but before they got to retaliate, another person joined the party.
For a brief second Deanna thought the new guy called her the shortstack, and she was about to snap at him. It sank in then - she was the 'lady' of the scenario. Double awesome. Not only did she get a savior, she got a condescending one. A vaguely good looking, condescending one.
"Stay out of this. The bitch stole our money", one of the Hulks spat out at her gracious knight, leading to Dee rolling her eyes in the most dramatic of fashions. While the way the other patrons were starting to pay attention had her sweating, the irritation broiling in her stomach was too much to ignore. Still, if someone called the cops, she'd be knee-deep in shit with her fake ID. And the brass knuckles. And the trunk full of guns. And the rest of the fake IDs.
So, really, she should be de-escalating instead of being a belligerent dickhead, but man, stuff like this ticked her right off.
"First, don't call me that, this ain't 2005", the lady deadpanned, pointing a finger at the man-shaped bundle of muscle and anger that had opened his mouth. Over her shoulder, she spared a sideways glance to her savior. "Second, I appreciate the support of a beautiful guy, but you'll get your pretty face hurt if you keep talkin like that." And she didn't wanna see him swollen and bloody before she'd had a proper eyeful of him (as, at the moment, she was too on edge to let her attention leave the threatening trio of troublemakers).
The voice of the barkeep let out a bellowing "No fighting on the premises!" from behind the bar then, and a sliver of the tension in Deanna's stance escaped.
Brady wished, briefly, as he often did in such situations, that he could just carve his name into their necks with a switchblade. He couldn’t, but wishing didn’t hurt anything. All she’d done was grift them? He ought to congratulate her; sometimes he wondered if Azazel had mixed up which of the Winchester kids he’d given his blood to, because Deanna seemed like she would make a much better demon than the creampuff he’d shacked up with. How much had she taken off their hands? Or had it just been that emasculating an experience, that they were too intoxicated to forget?
Diverting him from his fantasies, Deanna called him out on his gender politics. Humans and their gender; it was more trouble than it was worth, sometimes, but other times, he could draw out predictable responses like this. If he had to resurrect the decaying corpse of chivalry just to piss off a Winchester, he would do it again. Still, he shouldn’t provoke her while they were this close to a mutual enemy. He turned his gaze back to the drunk idiots. He didn’t stand a chance without dipping into demonic wells of power. This was hardly worth revealing himself in front of Deanna Winchester.
"No fighting on the premises," bellowed the barkeep. Brady stared at the men for a few more seconds before shrugging, visibly slouching his shoulders.
“Fine, go ham on them. If you’re still in one piece afterward, let me buy you a drink.”
Did he want to explore this opportunity? Yes. Did it prickle, just a little, the feeling of betrayal? What would Sam think if he knew- Winchester, Brady reminded himself. He couldn’t get used to calling his future king Sam- it was overly familiar. When the King of Hell had his pick of pet demons, Brady might be long destroyed. He hoped for something better- a position serving Winchester directly would be the sweetest spot, but he could settle for errand boy for one of the Seven Deadly Sins, the Four Horsemen, or a Prince of Hell. Maybe Azazel, if he survived the final encounter with his “children”. It wasn’t cheating, to have a drink with Sam’s estranged sister, it was good intelligence-gathering, and anyway, his relationship with Sam was a complete farce. He shouldn’t feel anything at all about this. He kept telling himself that as he turned to go get a seat at the bar.
A moment of wordless flexing followed the command over from the bar. Deanna could have sworn she heard the dudes growl - but then they all deflated at once when the New Guy spoke and walked off. Some huffing followed, threats in the lines of 'this isn't over', and the trio walked off. One of them passed Dee so close she had to step away, just to stop herself from kicking him in the back of a knee. Dude threw a smirk at her too, probably thinking he had intimidated her. Asshole.
Figuring she would not be able to leave via the front entrance anytime soon, the blonde decided to take her savior up on the offer, and strolled after him.
"Another one of these", she called out at the barkeep (who did not look at her too favorably), and waved her empty, umbrella-clad drink. A bit girly for her aesthetic, sure, but no one was around to poke fun, so what the hell.
Hopping onto the stool next to the guy - savior, pretty boy, whatever she'd have to call him before he volunteered a name -, Deanna gave him a once-over, and was suddenly glad his mug hadn't collided with a fist. He was quite pleasing to look at like this, healthy and intact. An unfortunate conclusion in the sense that now there was a lopsided smirk on her lips.
"There's some 'tall, dark and handsome' vibes here, but I gotta say", she noted, head tilting a tad, green eyes inspecting the guy, "don't often see a Prince Charming turn tail that quick. You often leave girls to fend for themselves and entice them to survive with the offer of drinks?"
Brady smiled, already understanding what Azazel had meant about this one. Winchester really was the black sheep in his family, wasn’t he? Not an ounce of caution or care when they could just pick a fight. He wondered why she’d backed down. The offer of a drink? Or maybe she hadn’t liked her odds. Either way, he’d gotten what he wanted without having to do any of the work. Humans kept being easier than he expected. He’d have this planet in the bag in no time.
“I look like a hero, but it’s not my favorite part to play. Roguish smuggler, maybe? Secret heart of gold, but very secret. Like you’re not going to catch a glimpse in a seedy bar, secret. If it’s even there. Maybe I’m a soulless bastard who just takes what he wants. Anyway, if you want to fight, I’m not going to be the one stop you. Looks like we’ve both had a shitty night.”
Not really, now that he surveyed the situation. Brady’s night had started looking up. Deanna Winchester was sitting down to have a drink with him. Maybe he couldn’t figure out how to use this just yet, but he would. Leverage on his own Winchester was worth its weight in gold. He would ply her with booze, keep her talking, and build a rapport- Brady didn’t know if he could make this into a regular thing, but he owed it to himself to try. If he failed, well…no harm done. Azazel must have eyes on her. This was an opportunity, tantalizing but optional. Drinks and conversation. He liked his chances. Disguising this train of thought, he kept on his most broody face and took a swig.
The grin on her deepened a tad.
"So I caught a real life Han Solo."
Oh, if only she had known about the connection she shared with her scoundrel. Sam would have made for an excellent Chewie (or C3PO, what with all that useless information in his brain). Then again, if she'd known about it, she probably would've agreed with the latter part of the guy's statement, called him a Dooku, and decked him. A complicated woman, she was.
The drink arrived, umbrella and all, stealing the green of Deanna's eyes as she tasted it, contemplating her next move. Not her 'next move' with the guy - girl's a slave of her libido after all - but in general. The stink-eye the barkeep was giving kinda implied they wouldn't be too glad if she asked to slip out the back... but she also didn't rate hanging around for hours on end, trying to figure if the coast was clear.
Shoulda really played the nerds. Jock types liked their revenge too much.
Letting the straw drop back into the glass from between her lips, Dee glanced her companion's way through her lashes. Life was a cruel mistress, throwing a guy like this her way when all she had gone out for was a scam or two.
"Think there's anything we can do to ease the shittiness?" She let the implication hang for a second, before adding, "I'm an excellent listener, you know."
Brady effortfully raised an eyebrow. He was tempted- sorely tempted- to play ball, but he didn’t want to risk his standing with Winchester over something this petty. His sister was a beautiful woman, with her reckless anger and capacity for cruelty, but she would be just as beautiful when Alastair or Belphegor had finished working on her. Moreso, when freed of the demands of a mortal body, when her soul finally belonged to her and to Hell.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Chivalry is fine, but otherwise I’m happily taken. Confessing my sins to a stranger might not break the rules of my parole, though,” Brady joked. “Why don’t we both start drinking and let the conversation flow until I feel like I’m about to do something I’ll regret? Then we’ll call it a night.”
Turning this into a time-limited event might just trigger her impatience, but Brady also knew Deanna to enjoy challenges- and especially to want what she couldn’t have. It was the natural result of inheriting her parents’ stubbornness, blending together within her in new and interesting ways. Sometimes he wondered just how long Azazel had planned this- how long Lilith had, how long Lucifer had. Brady assumed it went all the way up to the top, although Azazel continued to keep him in the dark about the details. He knew what really mattered- his role was to cozy up to their future king, and he was happy to take a quick detour to get to know one of Hell’s best future torturers along the way (or so he hoped).