2188/Pie Guy

Pie Guy
Date of Scene:	26 August 2017
Location:	The Roadhouse
Synopsis:	A guy can make pie appear from nowhere... what kind of witchcraft is this?
Cast of Characters:	Dean Winchester, 1281
Tinyplot:	Blood on My Name

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Dean Winchester has posed:
It'd been a long lonely trip to the Roadhouse. Dean had fallen into Jo's arms and Ellen's (albeit temporary) ire. His bruised face--made that way by his father rather than any hunt gone awry had elicited questions, but he hadn't answered them. He's unusually raw for this place. When he comes here, he usually wears airs. But he hadn't even found the heart to tell them. Any of them.

The weight of his choices hasn't been lost on him. Slowly, he reaches for the double neat whiskey in front of him and brings it to his lips, nursing the liquor as a means to nurse his equally bruised ego.

The booth he sits at near the back doesn't exactly scream that he wants company, yet with a lot of the bar filled up tonight, it's likely he's going to get it anyways.

Fredrik (1281) has posed:
"Hey, hey now! You know the saying! 'Flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo'. Loosely translated? If I cannot move heaven, I will move hell!" The young looking man chuckles and waves a hand at the group he was talking to, moving himself to a table near the back, plopping himself down in a chair. If the Latin didn't set him apart in the bar, his suit probably will. It's nice and neat, the shoes a shiny black with barely a scuff upon them.

The besuited young man takes a long sip of beer from the bottle in his hand and lets out a sigh. It was a long, and rather uneventful, day at his office. He had a total of three patients, and a lot of research for his next paper.

Glancing about, he nods to Dean, sitting in a nearby booth, lifting his beer in a sort of salute. "Evenin', boss." Is his simple greeting.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The sound of Latin causes Dean's attention to move away from his amber fluid to... the besuited young man. His eyes narrow and his lips part to say something before his gaze quickly turns to the bar, asking an unspoken question to the woman behind it. But he doesn't get any answers, nonverbal or otherwise, and mutters quietly to himself, "You've got to be kidding me."

There's nothing further from his experience than a fellow in a suit speaking Latina bout moving heaven and hell. His head shakes slightly and he lifts his glass into the air to cheers nobody before downing his whiskey in a long gulp. The burn causes his eyes to close which is why when the fellow addresses him that his eyebrows draw together in either pain or surprise.

His green eyes narrow and his head cants to the side to inspect the man with clear scrutiny. "...hey." He frowns slightly. "You from around here then?" because people don't typically just venture to the Roadhouse.

Fredrik (1281) has posed:
"Not too far from here." Fredrik shrugs, swishing the beer around the bottle. "But far enough." Probably suspicious phrasing to Dean. "I like the prices." He explains. "They charge just the right amount to allow me to drink just enough, know what I mean?" He furrows his brow, looking Dean over. "Of course you know what I mean."

He leans back in his chair and takes another sip. "It's just the right combo to either have fun or to forget. Or both." Forget //what//, however, is the question. "Come here often?" He asks, glancing back at Dean.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The question causes Dean's head to cant further to the side to inspect Fredrik thoroughly. "I don't swing that way," he says blandly before managing a tight-lipped smile. "But... good to know I've still got it." He shrugs once. Evidently /come here often/ reads like a pick-up line.

But then, in the event that Fred2 wants to know, he offers a one shouldered shrug, "Not often enough." His gaze turns back towards the bar; a reminiscent and wholly longing quality rings through it.

"You?" he sucks on the inside of his cheek and wonders if Fredrik comes for more than the drinks and a pang of jealousy shoots through him. He banishes it as quickly as it'd come. Raw emotions remain raw.

Fredrik (1281) has posed:
"Huh? Oh! Ha, ah, no I wasn't..." Fredrik chuckles softly and shakes his head, seemingly not embarrassed at all by the mistake. "No. I wasn't uh, I wasn't hitting on you. Sorry. I can understand why it might have come across that way. Could've picked better words." An eyebrow is raised. "Not that you're not...anyway." He clears his throat softly. "You look like you've been through a rough day."

He points the top of the bottle toward Dean's face. "Everything all right?" There is some genuine concern voiced in the question. Fredrik, for all he's worth, can't seem to stop caring about people. Maybe it's why he went into the profession that he chose.

He shrugs, sipping his beer again. "I come here every now and then. It's a decent place. A little out of the way, but worth it after a long day."

Dean Winchester has posed:
"And you look like you've had a long day directing funerals," Dean replies with a crooked grin. "We can't all be funeral directors." His lips purse and his fingers curl around his now-empty glass. Hilariously though, he lifts his eyebrows at Fredrik's awkward comment and he notes, "I know I'm adorable." He actually winks at that before glancing back to his empty glass.

"Just peachy," he answers the question whether everything is alright. "It's why I'm sitting here alone drinking whiskey." His eyebrows knit together a little tighter. "You kind of stick out around here." There's a pause. "You're one of those shrinks, aren't you? Shouldn't ask too many questions of these folks. Surefire way to get hurt."

Fredrik (1281) has posed:
"Hey now, don't dig on funeral directors, pun intended by the way. They do the jobs that others don't. They're real hard workers, those guys!" Fredrik looks toward the bartender and gets their attention, indicating Dean's empty glass and to get them two empty plates and forks.

"Hey now, when a guy's good looking, he's good looking. There's no need to deny it." He smirks, moving his eyebrows up and down. He chuckles and shakes his head.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a shrink. I could probably do without asking people in bars so many questions. Force of habit, I suppose." He suddenly turns serious. "Let me guess, it was personal? Someone you know? That's why you're sitting here all alone right now, instead of being with people? You're brooding? Fuming?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
The bartender comes and sets the forks, plates, and issues Dean another drink with a very silent shrug. He's likely getting cut off after this one, better make it count. When the bartender is a safe distance, Dean casts Fredrik a long-suffering stare. "Look. Here? In this place? It's always personal. Someone's always brooding. And it's always for good reason." There's a long pause. "We just don't ask each other about it."

He leans back in the seat and stares at the empty plate. "Dude. Uh... Doc dude?" he lifts an eyebrow, not entirely sure what he should be calling the shrink, "I know you think I'm a head case and all, but you're the one who just ordered empty plates. Not sure I should spill all my secrets to someone so... unhinged." He smiles smugly. It's not likely he'd loose his secrets anyways.

Fredrik (1281) has posed:
"Oh, I know that people are always brooding here. You just seem extra broodful. Like you //really// needed to brood, so you chose this place, this particular bar, and this particular part of the bar. Nothing says 'I'm better at brooding than you are' than sitting far away from most people at a bar known for brooding clientele." Fredrik responds quickly, placing his nearly empty bottle of beer down on the table.

He takes one plate and looks at it closely. "I'm no normal Doc Dude. And sure, there could be some cases to be made that I'm not all there, but there's no way you can use empty plates against me." Hiding a plate behind his back, he hums for a moment before bringing the plate back out in front of him, filled with a generous slice of apple pie. "Something tells me you're a pie guy, am I right?" He holds out the plate and fork for Dean.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Yeah, I'm just the broodiest of the brooding, Doc Dude," Dean smiles at that, allowing his fingers to curl around his new drink as the unhinged doctor produces... pie. His expression flattens. The smile loses its lustre, smoothing out into a solid straight line. In Dean Winchester's life, pie is serious business.

Pie that appears out of nowhere?

It's either angels or demons. And he has no idea which.

His lips part as he stares at the slice of apple pie. His lips quirk at the edges and he manages that almost ever-present smug smile, "Forgot the ice cream, pumpkin." He actually winks. But even under layers of bravado, his eyes reflect something far more sinister at play in his life.

Fredrik (1281) has posed:
"Aha, looks like I caught Mister Broody Bravado off guard, hmm?" Fredrik may have caught on that Dean seemed to emit this sense of self-confidence that was perhaps hiding something...more. But he had to leave //something// for later. He can't scare off everyone at the bar, they'd kick him out for losing them business.

Rolling his eyes, he places the plate of pie behind his back once more for a moment. "Aren't we the indulgent once, hmm?" After a moment, the plate is brought forth, unhidden from his back, and the pie has three scoops of vanilla ice cream on top. "Better?" He places one of the forks on the side of the plate and holds it out toward Dean.

Dean Winchester has posed:
A hollow laugh follows the ice cream on the pie as Dean's eyebrows arch at the puzzle in front of him. Randomly appearing pie. That's quite the dream come true. He takes the fork and lifts it to cut into the pie. It could be poison. It could be a trap. It could be Crowley messing with him. Regardless of what it is, he takes the plunge.

And as the fork travels into his mouth, his eyes drift closed in his complete and total pie reverie. Around his mouthful he manages to speak, "Worth it." While Fredrik may not get the full meaning because most of the debate happened in his mind, it's pretty easy to see that trust isn't high on Dean's list.

Fredrik (1281) has posed:
"Glad you could find it in yourself to trust me. I know I'm a stranger, a Doc Dude." Fredrik says, smiling gently, as he pulls the same 'trick' on the second plate, creating pie for himself. As he starts eating his pie, he takes Dean into consideration. "You were really suspicious of the pie, weren't you? Do you mind if I ask why?"

He laughs softly. "Then again, maybe I shouldn't ruin your enjoyment of it by asking you, should I?" He raises an eyebrow, nibbling on his pie some more. "Did I at least pick a good option? Apple?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean's eyes narrow at the Doctor Dude. His lips pucker slightly and then, he finally answers one of the questions that makes him the least uncomfortable, "Just like mom used to make." He shoots Fredrik a smug smile, but even the mention of mom--his own mention of mom in a joke--isn't that funny to him, and his eyes train on the pie once again.

"Strangers do things to each other, doc. Like I said, this isn't that kind of bar. We don't sit around and talk about our feelings. I think you're looking for Cheers." He smirks. "Bit before my time, but I hear everybody knows your name. That's the rumour anyways." He winks.

Fredrik (1281) has posed:
"Like your mom //used// to make? Must be hard, not to have her around." Fredrik assumes. The use of 'used to' suggests to him that she's not around any longer, for one reason or another. "I'm sorry. As much as I talk and shrink, I don't mean to bring up unhappy memories." He chews on a bit of pie for a moment, and then sighs.

Out of an inside jacket pocket, he pulls a card. He stands up briefly and places it on Dean's table. It reads: 'Dr. Fredrik Stone, PhD Psychologist' and in //very, very// fine bring near the bottom it says, 'Expert in Parapsychology, Myths, Legends, and the Occult'. The card also has an address and phone number. "That's me. I assume you'll probably end up just tearing up the card, I'm around if you want to, you know, talk. And not in a bar where everybody knows your name. Because I am not Frasier, and the people in that show had a lot of issues, perhaps more so than the people in this bar, and that's saying something!"

Dean Winchester has posed:
In no time flat, Dean's expression changes. The merriment gives way to flatness. His expression flattens. His eyes deaden. And the apology doesn't quite cut it. Green eyes narrow and he sets the fork down. "Yeah," he agrees. It's hard not having her around. But there's more and it's written plainly across Dean's face.

The card is taken and slide across the table. He scratches his eyebrow and then casts a long look at Fredrik. "You know anything about Crossroad demons?" Pause. "More specifically Crossroad contracts." His lips purse involuntarily.

Fredrik (1281) has posed:
"Oh boy, I've done it again. Drudged up bad memories." Or was that on purpose? Fredrik's own subconcious wanting him to know more, so that he can help? "You know what happened to her, don't know?" His brow furrows. "Whatever happened, it's not your fault. But I'm way overstepping here." He stops and looks down for a moment.

"Crossroad demons?" Fred looks up at Dean quizzically. "And...and their contracts?" His eyes dart left and right, back and forth, as if attempting to bring up a memory. "Yeesssss..." It's somewhat hesitant. "What about them?" This conversation certainly isn't going where he expected.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean actually laughs at the first. "Doc, you don't even know me. For all you know I killed my own mother. That would be my fault now, wouldn't it?" his expression edges on grim. But there's still a quality to it, a vague appreciation at being told he didn't make it happen.

The hesitation has Dean arching an eyebrow. "Breaking them. Are they ever breakable? People break contracts here, what about there?"

Fredrik (1281) has posed:
"Well, I suppose you got a point, there." Fredrik clicks his tongue. "I don't know you from Barney the Purple Dinosaur." He tilts his head and smiles kindly. "But from how you talked about her pie, those aren't the words of a guy who would've done that to his mother. No, you might be capable of a few things, but that wouldn't have been one of them, I shouldn't think." Of course this is all just guess work from his short conversation with the other young man.

He frowns at the question of breaking a contract with a Crossroad Demon. "That's a tough one." He scratches his head, thinking on it for a moment. "I'll come right out and say that I've never heard a story about them being broken. The legends I've heard of them? They don't end well for the mere mortals who make them. But..." With a psychologist like him, there's always a 'but', "I'd imagine there are ways around that. It'd be tricky. The demon would probably have to be offered something greater than the soul it's already getting, and that's no easy task." He chews the inside of his cheek. "Then again, this is just speculation. I can't say for certain that this is how it would work. Of course, you could always have a psychologist make a read on the Crossroad Demon, see what they make of it." He laughs at his comment, seeming to find it the funniest thing ever.

He sighs, a goofy grin on his face. It fades quickly, however, when he looks back to Dean. "Why do you ask?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean manages a stiff smile at the last question. He reaches into his pocket and lays a few bills down on the table and then he lifts the drink to his lips and downs it in one burning gulp. "No reason," he offers in return. "See ya around, Doc." And with that he retreats to the room in the back. He'd sleep in his car, but Jo won't have it, so he's bound for a good night's rest.