shatterverse | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Rachel has yet to find what useful purpose Dean serves to this world or any other. So far his driving skills, propensity for violence, and taste in music has been far outweighed by the pure annoying of his personality.

The number of punches she's dealt his shoulder has multiplied ever since she hit her head, too. Maybe Jo was attracted to men that tried to baby her but Rachel would take a monster over a concerned individual any day of the week.

Which is why she had no problem with stealing one of Dean's guns after they'd made camp and he'd gone off to-- do whatever it was he was going to do. Se has her own, of course, but it doesn't serve her purpose.

It isn't shiny.

"Mort?" Rachel frowns and glances over her shoulder to make sure no one's around to see her acting like a crazy woman, talking to a gun. "C'mon, I need to talk to you."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Rachel drops her hands from her face and looks over at him.

...mmm fluffy bunnies.

"Nothin'," she replies shortly, rolling to a crouch and reaching for a skinning knife. She holds out a hand in a silent offer for one of the rabbits.

One gets tossed to her, legs flailing in the air. Dean smirks.

"Didn't look like nothing."

Rachel catches it by its long, skinny feet - even while she looks up at Dean sharply.

He knows entirely too much about her without this. His knowing about Steph, or the shopping mall with the zombies, doesn't make her feel much better.

Rachel scowls and sets the rabbit down in the grass by her feet, starting to peel the skin off of it.

"Could be you need glasses, old man."

"Well, I sure don't need a hearing aid," Dean points out cheerfully. "Not the way you yell."

Rachel tears the skin off with a great riiip and flips the knife in her fingers, spraying blood at the grass and looking up at him with a glare.

"Is there something you want to say or are you going to make commentary at me until I throw this at you?"

Dean smirks. "Commentary's good. You don't have that great an aim, I'm not too worried."

Can't throw a knife, can't throw a punch - completely useless in this body save for the gun she's been training with, which doesn't hurt, it kills.

Rachel glares at him, smoldering with swallowed back anger, and drops her eyes to the rabbit again.

She's a little rougher with putting it on the stick than usual, but that just be because she really feels like stabbing something right now.

Dean snorts, apparently in vague amusement.

"Hey, it's not my fault. If you'd been any louder they'd'a heard you in Canada. ... if there's anyone in Canada."

"What do you want me to say?" Rachel asks sharply, looking up at him, blank-faced and blue eyes cold. "Tell me so I can say it and you can shut up about it."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Geez, sensitive much?"

He is so easy to get along with, Dean.

Attempting friendship with Dean is like hugging a porcupine: uncomfortable, nigh impossible, and generally not worth the effort.

At least, that's Rachel's opinion.

"When we get to the farm," she begins softly, turning the rabbit on the spit slowly, "you go in. I have stuff to do."

Like not be there.

"A'ight."

At least he doesn't pry.

"Avoiding the little superhero, huh?"

... much.

Rachel lifts her chin and looks at him for a moment, absolutely silent, gaze steady.

"What'd your brother have to say about you taking off like this?"

Silence.

Dean's voice is rough. "Point taken."

"Bitch."

"Jackass," Rachel snaps, perfectly clear.

She goes back to turning the spit.

...but since she also really didn't want to bring up Dean's family, she lets him have first-pick from the rabbits.

He smirks very faintly at her for that.

A while later: "You know, you were right."

"I'm right about everything," Rachel replies automatically, lounging on her blanket, leaning back on her backpack while she cleans a rabbit bone with her teeth.

Finding out what she's right about doesn't seem to be a priority.

"Course you are." He flops back himself, looking up at the stars in disapproval. (There's way too many, and they're way too bright; there should be so much more pollution than this blocking them out.) "I forgot."

Rachel glances at him, head bent with only her eyes lifted, watching him quietly for a moment.

(way too bright... and not enough movement)

"What am I right about?"

"Everything," Dean reminds her. "Did you forget already?"

Rachel frowns a little and shakes her head, nibbling at her bone again.

...she can't ask again. Even if she really wants to.

A lot.

Dean smirks, but apparently soon gets sick of picking on her.

"I meant, about fightin' with the superhero. She's a superhero. You live in the real world."

Rachel looks at him again, blue eyes cool and emotionless.

Then she leans back against her blanket and stares at the stars.

"That farm's screwed if they ever get anything more dangerous than a skunk wandering in."

"Eh. Fray's pretty good. There's a few solid heavies there." Dean shrugs, not bothering to look over at her. "Sides, little miss morals's a decent fighter."

He is still so amused that there are worlds where Batman is real. Dude. Seriously. Batman.

(It's possible he's disagreeing with Rachel for the sake of disagreeing with her.)

"Assuming she'll fight."

Bouncing on those mens' heads - yeah, that was impressive. But then what? What's the point of having the skill if she won't use it?

Sadly, Rachel has no experience with comic books and doesn't recognize Steph as anything but a fellow gymnast and a serious annoyance.