Sallie Abigail Reynolds (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
realmrsreynolds) wrote2008-04-02 02:25 pm
realmrsreynolds) wrote2008-04-02 02:25 pm
Entry tags:
On Shadow.
Sallie's accustomed by this point in her career in Milliways with bringing people through to her house.
Sometimes however, she does forget to mention that her door leads to the back end of her walk-in pantry.
"Mind the rice bags, please," Sallie throws out behind her. "I haven't had a chance to put them away yet."
'Them', here, meaning 'a stack of burlap bags waist high that restricts the narrow walkway of actual living space to about half of its original width'.
Sallie's concise like that; even she has issues navigating it all.
Sometimes however, she does forget to mention that her door leads to the back end of her walk-in pantry.
"Mind the rice bags, please," Sallie throws out behind her. "I haven't had a chance to put them away yet."
'Them', here, meaning 'a stack of burlap bags waist high that restricts the narrow walkway of actual living space to about half of its original width'.
Sallie's concise like that; even she has issues navigating it all.
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Plus he's too much of a wuss to want to get his hands dirty.
"Gimme a sec."
That's directed at Sallie, but most of Dean's attention is on whatever the hell the gardener was doing.
He crouches down, looking out for a spade or shovel, or something.
There's gotta be one around, right?
Because the plants themselves don't look that interesting.
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And usually, gardeners have no reason to be particularly fast at running.
"Go away!" he shouts behind him at his pursuer -- toe picking itself directly down into a gopher hole.
He almost bounces.
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"Not a chance in hell." He crouches down by the guy, putting a hand on his shoulder.
To anyone watching, it'd look as though he were checking to see if the gardener was okay, but instead he's preventing him from getting up.
"What's got you in such a hurry, dude?"
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The man on the ground is not terribly forthcoming. "Get off me."
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He looks up, and while he sounds flippant, his expression is anything but.
"Because that's pretty batshit. I'm just sayin'."
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When Dean carefully plucks two scalpel blades out of the ground -- long things, an antique style meant to have a handle slid over the blunt end for use -- she stares at the gardener being led back from the field.
"What did you do?"
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It's a quiet response, and the young man was never so still since the Winchesters have seen him. He rolls his eyes upward again, gesturing toward the house.
"She did."
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It really doesn't do anything for the stone-cold look on his face.
"Since I'm guessing your bosslady doesn't grow a five o'clock shadow every night--"
Because really. Ew.
"You're gonna tell us who she cut up."
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Sam looks grimly resigned. To the gardener,
"And I'm guessing she doesn't, does she?"
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A frantic look to Sam, then Dean, but it lands on Sallie and sticks.
"Don't tell her."
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Unless we have to.
"Dean, can you -- ?" Pointing to the scalpel blades, thumbing toward the hovercraft. "...I think it's time we left."
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He kinda wants to throw a Christo at her, just to be sure.
But the gardener ain't dead yet, which means demons aren't too likely.
Still.
"Yeah," he says, levering himself up, "sounds like a plan."
He tucks the scalpels away, careful not to cut himself or his clothes.
He's only got so many pairs of pants.
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"Mrs. Reynolds just wanted to help her friend, and so we came to help her find out what happened to Dr. Gaetano. That's all. If you don't say anything about this, neither will we."
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To not look at those -- those weapons.
They look familiar to her.
She'll tell Sam and Dean as much as they go back to the house.