#heartslayer

The sound of large, heavy boots rhythmically thudding against metal echos in Din’s ears. He quietly lifts his helmet from his face, wiping the sweat from his forehead against the leather gloves. It had been another successful, though extremely exhausting, day of bounty hunting.

As he combs his fingers through his thick, untamed hair, resuming his tall stature, he sits the helmet to the side for a moment, allowing himself to breathe in the slightly fresher air of the ship. 

              EXT. BACKLOT - DAY. : He just gets the chance of one more shared look with Chelsea before she hurries off. Of course, it’s the signature boyish smirk of his, though everything about it is surprisingly ... affectionate  ( that’s so cute ... gross )  . Johnny pulls his shirt over his head, standing on the steps to his trailer, and he looks over at Eden, who ... how to describe it?  ‘ Less than thrilled ’  feels like a total underestimation, but it’s also the safest option for the mere idea that maybe Johnny isn’t in as deep shit as he actually is with her.

              That is a ... really sharp look she’s giving him. Daggers. If she wasn’t a fan of him before, she definitely hasn’t been a fan since finding out he’s banging her best friend.  ( Straight out of a movie, right? )  And Johnny can’t really even begin to anticipate what she’s getting ready to say to him. He adjusts his pants, pulls them up a little bit, double checks the fly --  ‘ I want to say  ‘ don’t do that ever again ’  but I know you’re going to anyway. ’  Okay ... Okay! Could be worse.  ( But she’s still kind of scary. )

              Johnny scoffs a little bit and combs his fingers through his hair. He shrugs and steps down from his trailer, looking over at her.  ( Don’t say something dumb, don’t say -- )  “ Heart wants what it wants, what can I say? ”  ( You chose poorly ... )  One side of his lips tilts up into a cheeky smile.  “ Anyway, they probably want us on set, so -- ”

it starts out slow. the small comments in regards to castiel’s newest friendship. the comments don’t bother him -- not at first, anyway. he suspects it’s due to his nature. after all, the winchesters have been his only lasting friends for as long as they’ve known him. ( he was not made to be a social creature. ) he suspects it’s dean’s way of expressing his enjoyment in watching him expand his friendships. but, slowly, the comments turn to quips. ones castiel recognizes as displeasure from the eldest winchester. they sharpen the longer castiel spends time with eden.

he’s noticed her reaction to dean’s presence as well. her own displeasure with his interruptions becoming clearer to the angel. though, he cannot determine if that has to do with his comments or more with castiel’s attention always being pulled from her. he watches as their quips become shorter towards one another, angrier in certain moments. ( like the moment dean walked into the kitchen an hour earlier than normal, announcing his intent to make pancakes. castiel had offered him a small smile and a nod, despite his lack of need for food. eden had promptly told him to fuck off, before pulling castiel by his wrist out of the room. )

then, of course, there was the moment in the war room. when he had been wandering the halls aimlessly before hearing dean voicing his name. he wasn’t being called, but rather talked about. he had only heard, ‘with you and cas, but if you wanna tell me --’ before eden’s laughter was pouring through the walls. something he was not used to, yet, the sound had caused a small smile to pull against his features, his feet moving him closer to the sound. only for the smile to fall once more when he felt dean’s back collide with his shoulder -- hard. as if he had stumbled. blue eyes full of confusion had shifted between the two of them, before dean spun on his heels and fled the room. he’d listened as eden called him a ‘fucking moron’ as he left, and castiel was sure he’d notice a slight tint of red against dean’s cheeks. eden hadn’t been able to tell him -- not fully. anytime she started, more laughter poured from her lips, instead of words. ( though, castiel didn’t mind. he simply offered her a smile of his own, and let the moment lay. )

of course, whatever had happened, didn’t seem to leave dean’s mind -- instead, he felt the need to confront castiel, instead of eden. he’d been stopped outside of his room with a hand gripped just above the crook of his elbow. ( it’s moments like this, he is thankful for the grace still flickering within him -- helping to keep more human reactions hidden. ) castiel had patiently waited as dean tripped over his words -- as if asking castiel was harder than asking eden. ‘i tried to talk to her, but she just laughed. so, if anything’s going on, you know you can tell me, right ?’ the words only burrowed confusion deeper into him, his head tilting as if a new angle could help him understand dean’s words. “what should i be telling you, dean ?” again, castiel is sure he spots a tint of red creeping up dean’s neck, and onto his cheeks. he knows he feels the others grip tighten. ‘you and eden, man. if something’s going on, you could tell me.’

It's a quarter after midnight. Eden sits there, impassive, with her stained-glass eyes and pitchless blacks, watching him like he’s a thing to look down on. He’s all emotion. Pent-up everything. He masquerades greatness, and he bubbles over.

“Ohh, yeah, let's go ahead. Play telephone.” He splays his fingers out and rattles both his hands, exasperated. There's a tackiness to Sam when angry. Like now. “Bite the hand that feeds! Who do you think gives you Beetlejuice on speed dial, Eden? I’m the means of production. I’m Ford to you. Say hello to your old pal General Motors! ‘Masquerading greatness’. I reach out and hold stars from where I stand. I look down at you from my tower, and you know what I see? Ants!”

Sam’s hair has come out of place. There’s the fuzzy-draining feeling that comes with low blood sugar, only that's not what this is, and this is stupid, this is ridiculous, the upholstery under this chair squeaks from under him and it drives him up a wall just like her long black cloak and a call that ended with an indefinite bye.

Ooft. Herbs clung stubborn beneath his nails, the wizard starts to do as ordered.

Eden, drenched in that dizzying scent of maelstrom and lightning gales, is...profound, he supposes. They've all secrets here, about as gangrel a party of the doomed can be, but she, he canvases, boasts a particular sense of danger. In fact, she, he decides, is singularly cold. She grants him her glare, something serpentine in the venom of her taunt, and bearing her focus must strike men like an omen, but Gale, twice-dying, holds strong, impervious.

With a cant of his head, he even scoffs.

"Pish posh." Who says that? "Tainting my meal would require you first to befoul the whole of our luxurious supper tonight. Once you've indulged in my bouillabaisse, you'd think doing so a madness. You've a penchant for lightening the coin purses of others, I imagine. Robbing yourself of your wit sounds rather unorthodox."

Annoying wizard. Gale hands her the onion to cut, and with the night air wonderfully fragrant, stirs the cauldron, eying her. Hm... "Though, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you aren't much a woman to care for the conventional."