[For the Winchester Brothers] Not Doing a Lunatic Dance Yet...

[77th_emo_earl]

Continued from Here

Titus tilts his head a bit and rises as Dean stands up. "Your brother knows much about this matter of trouble? He would not think me mad once I described to him these frightening circumstances?" he asks. Considering the kind of hereditary madness that seems to run through the Groan line, it's likely something he's concerned about, even if he doesn't know what's the cause behind it. "I am not adverse to it: in something like this, I suppose that I need all the assistance that I can obtain. Lead me where you will."

So, continued from the night of the Morgoth attacks. Shall we go for a Titus-Dean-Sam arrangement?

Comments

[precognitioning.livejournal.com]

He was mostly making sure you weren't mental, Titus. Or that something followed you here, that is true. On the other hand...for the moment, he'll put the notebook down and stand up himself. "I think that's it, without seeing the room itself. We should...do that."

Another one of those slightly odd glances at Dean.

[77th-earl.livejournal.com]

"Very well, if you gentlemen will follow me," he say, stepping through the door and beckoning them to follow him. He'll lead the way down the hallway and around a corner, then down another hallway, leading to his room. He'll open the door and step aside to let them enter first.

The room within is comfortable, but not lavish, and a bit untidy in a lived-in way. A few clothes hap-hazardly draped over a chest and a pair of riding boots dumped over under the bed. There are a few books scattered on the desk, as well as an ink-splattered sheet of paper. A quill pen is lying on the floor where he dropped it, and the chair is tipped over.

[surfaceshine]

Dean flips a hand idly at Sam's glance, and tails the two of them down the hall. When he slips past Titus and into the room, the change is immediate, and most akin to some kind of hound searching a field for a scent trail; if he had mobile ears they'd be perked up and focused forward, his eyes bright and intent, and he is actually sniffing the air - though subtly. He moves forward and mentally separates the room into a grid, and begins poking around opposite Sam.

Since the typists already know what actually happened, it's safe to say there's nothing to find; no sulfur in the air, no marks on the walls or floor, no hexbags hidden behind a book or under the bed. Dean does his best to turn the room upside down, though, putting things back where he finds them for the most part unless or until Titus protests. Dean has never been the one with finesse.

If Titus doesn't stop him, though, he'll end up standing next to the discarded quill, wishing he could crouch down to examine it, and looking for the knife that had been mentioned before.

[precognitioning.livejournal.com]

Sam follows Dean into the room and does his own poking around, wondering if he should be able to - he doesn't know, sense something or something. For the moment, though, relying on his eyes, and catching nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually, he straightens and follows Dean's eyes to the quill.

"Where's the knife you were talking about?" he asks, voicing that particular thought. "The one that tried to stab you?"

Erasing previous candidates in his mind and trying to sort through potential new ones, but of course it could be something entirely new they've never seen before, that's always a possibility.

[77th-earl.livejournal.com]

He looks down beside the desk. "It has fallen down behind the far side of the desk. It is here on the floor," he says, pointing to the knife, as it lies on the carpet beside the desk.

[surfaceshine]

Dean raises both eyebrows and bends to look where Titus is pointing; his eyebrows frown a bit, then, and he sighs softly. Crap. Instead of being able to just crouch down and go at it, Dean lowers himself stiffly to one knee and shakes the sleeve of his henley down over his hand so he can reach to pick up the knife without touching it to his skin. He just stays where he is on the floor while holding it so both he and Sam can look at it, turning it to try and figure out what kind of metal it is, if there's anything unusual about it, before his eyes trail back to bounce between the floor where it ended up and the desk it came off of.