shatterverse | (no subject)

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One of the side effects of Leah sorting out a massive CD collection, is the resultant creation of a specific mix CD as she found individual songs she attached specific importance to instead of entire albums. It's that album that's playing now, as she practises in her archery range, still sporting one earpiece that cycles through her active channels. Her mic's on as well, which means anyone unlucky enough to catch her might just be exposed to her singing along to Gerry and the Pacemakers.

"When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high, and don't be afraid of the dark..."

It might be best to ring her doorbell.

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Dean rings the doorbell.

Also says, "Ah, Christ, that's awful!" at her music.

Pffft, like Dean gets to have an opinion.

The music's turned off as Leah gets to the door, in time to hear him say that and recognise the voice.

So when she opens the door he eyebrows are raised and she leans against the frame.

"What kind of Philistine are you?"

"One with taste," Dean mutters, looking around curiously. "Hey, Leah."

"Hey Dean," she says, stepping back and out of the way so a jerk of her head can invite him in.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Ah, call it an apology, if y'like." Dean shrugs, a little awkward. "I took off on you pretty fast last time, never thanked you f'helpin' me out with that Sparrow kid."

Leah's apartment is sparsely furnished, and appears to be obsessively tidy, although that's little more than a symptom of her physical need not to have too many obstructions or clutter. There's not even any pictures hanging on the wall.

A dining-sized table in the living room is given over to a workspace, and that carries most of the clutter, tools and equipment laid out on an inventor's table.

"Well, y'know, I kinda thought I was helping her out," Leah remarks. "Com'on in, but if you move anything I'll hit you with it."

"Sure," Dean agrees amiably, and leans over to pick up a spanner in idle curiousity.

"I heard that," Leah points out. "I'm not kidding, Dean, I need to know where my things are.

"You want something to drink? I have cold beer."

"Oh, right. Yeah." He puts the spanner back carefully, sheepish. "Uh, sure. Where'd'you get beer from these days? The warehouse I found's all out."

"I have contacts," Leah tells him. She disappears kitchenwards, moving with confidence in a space she knows well, and returning with two cold Cobra beers, one of which she holds out to him.

"Do a few odd jobs for people, and suddenly I rocketed up the barter chain."

Where 'a few odd jobs' involves all sorts of little things towards making life for some Metropolitans nearly normal.

"Sounds like a decent deal. Thanks." Dean lifts his beer to her in an entirely pointless salute. "What kinda odd jobs you do?"

"Patch up jobs, mostly," she says. "Normal repair work is useless, 'cause people don't have the parts, but I can make a working DVD player with a dead laptop and parts from an old VCR."

"Oh, hey. Useful skill to have," Dean remarks, approvingly. "Where'd you learn that?"

She shrugs, popping her beer oen and collapsing back on the couch.

"Didn't learn it. Just really good at making shit up, always have been."

"Also a good skill."

Dean takes that as invitation to sit down in the other chair and stretch his legs out, yawning. "So you're all right here, you don't got anythin' you particular need someone t'get you or anythin'? I got nothin' t'do for a while."

He's only offering because Sam likes her, really.

"Nah, I'm fine," Leah says, with a confident grin.

And - Sam's brother or no, she probably wouldn't ask Dean for anything either. Not yet.

"Y'don't have to apologise, anyway. Not like I thought it had anything to do with me."

"Didn't," Dean agrees briefly. "Still, kinda rude and there ain't sense in accidentally offendin' anyone I might wanna work with again." He shrugs, gulping beer.

"Had ruder," Leah says. "Takes more than that to offend me and more than a bit of offense to stop me working with people. I'm a pro, really."

"Always nice to find." Dean's grin is audible. "All right, sweet. You got our frequency if you need anything, right?"

Amused: "I know you got Sam's."

Leah nods, takes a drink, then pauses.

"...are you grinning?"

"...only if you want me to?"

Dean is uncertain. Grinning is bad? :o

Well, Leah's smirking, so it can't be that bad. She shakes her head.

"Nah, I just find it hard to read hidden meaning sometimes."

"Yeah, I guess that could happen." Dean thinks about it for all of a second or two before shrugging it off cheerfully. "Nah, if I have any hidden meanings I'll make sure y'know."

"Thanks," Leah says in acknowledgment, and takes another swig of her beer.

She does not want to deal with hidden meanings with respect to Sam. Nuh uh.

"Sure." Dean smiles vaguely, having run out of conversational topics. "So ... you're good with electronics?"