http://hector-aframian.livejournal.com/ (
hector-aframian.livejournal.com) wrote in
shatterverse2008-09-27 02:20 pm
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Dean hates Kansas.
Dean hates Metropolis. It's got no right sittin' there in the middle of Kansas, out of place as a fuckin' donkey at a ball. He knows America and he knows the roads and the highways and he fucking hates that this world's twisted them all around.
Dean hates Lawrence. Sammy's still there. And Dean's not going back.
Dean hates himself, too, for that.
A surefire cure for angry emo bitterness is beating the shit out of people, however, and fortunately there's a lot of shit going round. Suburbs of Metropolis, clubs, late at night, there's always some chick he can bail outta trouble. That way he gets to beat people up and then gets laid.
Presently, Dean is in a back alley, glaring at a guy on the ground who thought he'd drag some naive little chick into the mens' room even though she was fighting. Jerk. And worse, not even a tough jerk. Dean's not even breathing hard. Waste of a fucking fight.
Yeah ... Dean hates Metropolis.
Dean hates Metropolis. It's got no right sittin' there in the middle of Kansas, out of place as a fuckin' donkey at a ball. He knows America and he knows the roads and the highways and he fucking hates that this world's twisted them all around.
Dean hates Lawrence. Sammy's still there. And Dean's not going back.
Dean hates himself, too, for that.
A surefire cure for angry emo bitterness is beating the shit out of people, however, and fortunately there's a lot of shit going round. Suburbs of Metropolis, clubs, late at night, there's always some chick he can bail outta trouble. That way he gets to beat people up and then gets laid.
Presently, Dean is in a back alley, glaring at a guy on the ground who thought he'd drag some naive little chick into the mens' room even though she was fighting. Jerk. And worse, not even a tough jerk. Dean's not even breathing hard. Waste of a fucking fight.
Yeah ... Dean hates Metropolis.
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"It's good to see that I'm not the only one who can't stand that," says a man. He is older, and would look just like Anthony Hopkins if his eyes weren't that weird shade of red-brown.
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Copper eyes flit over the scene. Dean. Guy on the ground.
There's a soft 'huh,' amused or ironic its hard to tell, before she says, "Should I throw my trash in the dumpster before or after you?"
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It's a soft, wheedling voice, too honey-sweet, too forced to hide obvious excitement, and just outside the alley Dean's in.
"No? Okay, no clubs, but somewhere a little more private, y'know? I got a car back here somewhere, or I bet we could find a room, pretty little thing like you... honey?"
The voice is getting further away, footsteps a little faster.
"Oh, wanna play hard t'get, huh? Yeah, all right, we can play."
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