08: [Video] Head Games
The screen flickers on, resolution grainy for a moment, before focusing. Audio is garbled until a broad hand comes into view and shakes the camera, and then the sound comes through clear as well. Dean is up close to the lens, brow furrowed, and then he quirks a broad smile.
"Mornin', ladies and gentlemen," He waggles his eyebrows, moving back enough that his torso and arms can be seen as well. "It is a beautiful day in the proverbial fucked-up neighborhood, and- Oh, shit, wait - " The man checks his watch. "...aaaand I really gotta start recording dates on this thing..."
Dean scribbles something down on a slip of paper and shoves it in his pocket, smirking at the camera once more. "Note to self: don't go swimming in November in forty-degree water. 'Nother note to self..." He casts a backwards glance to an empty plate on his bed. It's clear that he'd gone to the kitchen earlier, and Dean pulls a morose expression, clearly distressed about the lack of food. His stomach grumbles audibly. Wincing, Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to the camera. "Second note to self, get more food."
The hunter stands, brushing his pants off and talking to himself. "Man, I could really wrap my lips around a piece of some hot, steamy pie. Jesus fuck, or a burger." He groans, packing some stuff into a duffel and leaving the camera on. His ass is in the way most of the time, but at the very least it's a nice, denim-clad ass. "God, I'd kill for some meat. Anyway."
Dean clears his throat and tosses the bag over one shoulder. "M'gonna head out for target practice on the outskirts of the woods soon, if there're any takers. In this place, it looks like self-defense is your best fuckin' bet."
"Mornin', ladies and gentlemen," He waggles his eyebrows, moving back enough that his torso and arms can be seen as well. "It is a beautiful day in the proverbial fucked-up neighborhood, and- Oh, shit, wait - " The man checks his watch. "...aaaand I really gotta start recording dates on this thing..."
Dean scribbles something down on a slip of paper and shoves it in his pocket, smirking at the camera once more. "Note to self: don't go swimming in November in forty-degree water. 'Nother note to self..." He casts a backwards glance to an empty plate on his bed. It's clear that he'd gone to the kitchen earlier, and Dean pulls a morose expression, clearly distressed about the lack of food. His stomach grumbles audibly. Wincing, Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to the camera. "Second note to self, get more food."
The hunter stands, brushing his pants off and talking to himself. "Man, I could really wrap my lips around a piece of some hot, steamy pie. Jesus fuck, or a burger." He groans, packing some stuff into a duffel and leaving the camera on. His ass is in the way most of the time, but at the very least it's a nice, denim-clad ass. "God, I'd kill for some meat. Anyway."
Dean clears his throat and tosses the bag over one shoulder. "M'gonna head out for target practice on the outskirts of the woods soon, if there're any takers. In this place, it looks like self-defense is your best fuckin' bet."