Roadhouse Shenanigans | Circa: medietas

[myheadisaprison]

A bubble of continuation of Stories from the Roadhouse: Medietas Edition
If you were in the circle of Roadhouse crew and shenanigans-havers during the time Jo, Merlin, Krissy, etc were around in-game and you want a space to continue those stories, have at it. Go wild. It's the nature of the place, after all.

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Anywhen / Everywhen

[tobeclosetohim]

Maybe it's late. Maybe it's early. Maybe it's even midday.

You know what they say about the Roadhouse in Mediates;

It's a great place to get a drink, but watch that you don't get punched, and you might want to keep yourself 'ware when you're there, as magic seems to be a scent on the dusty, half-smoked air, and from time-to-time people might not seem to be exactly what they are, and it's been talked about that magic happens at Harvelle's. Both the kind that makes pianos play by themselves and the type that sends monsters running home to their mothers.

That you can't always, entirely trust what you think
might be true when you're in there. About, well. . . anything.




But the door seems to be propped open today, a little bit of the breeze getting in,
and there's a familiar face leaning on the bar. Who knows, maybe today is your lucky day.

Bar, late afternoon?

[notthatpond]

Monsters running home to their mothers might not be exactly true. There is a smallish one scrambling up to sit on a stool, because booths or tables are so dull. This small monster knows the bar is the best place. It's usually closest to his momma, Sam, his Princess and her Angels. Merlin he usually thinks of by the piano. Jacob likes it when he plays. It's how home is and always should be. There are no crayons today. He's just turning 8. Coloring in is too young for him now. Jacob likes his books.

"I finished up all my homework and chores so momma let me come down to help you Princess Jo." That was the one thing that wasn't going away, Jo was forever going to be stuck with the name of Princess.

Feels are a go!

[roadhouse_mama]

She's not sure where she is, never mind when. There had been grief and anger and fire and then.. then nothing.

Until now.

Ellen Harvelle slowly pushes open the doors to a Roadhouse she's never seen before - but the sign is frankly hard to mistake as anything but familiar.

"Someone wanna tell me who's running this place using my name?"

Sometime or other

[themerlin]

A piano being played stops, and a head turns, and eyes blink, and take in many scenes. And Merlin... Merlin grins.

"I love this bar." His voice is quiet, and yet somehow carries, across rooms, across noise, where there are those who can hear, and those who will. His words carry, but he smiles as he starts to play again, eyes tracking down those he cares about, against his will, against his wanting.

He sees, and hears, and he plays, and is very glad to be there.

This place that has his heart, as several in it do.

[badpuns]

Balthazar grins, and tilts his glass in Merlin's direction. "I'd say it's a good bet that we all do. What's the old line? 'Play it again, Sam'?"

Toby would be proud

[tobeclosetohim]

From behind him, there's beautiful, if low and not entirely attempting to be melodic,
but not missing being it either: "It's my kind of place."

That would be Jo. Stopped not far from Merlin.
Tray full of filled drinks resting against one hip

[badpuns]

Balthazar is still pretty much a permanent fixture in the bar. If he's not home, it's a guarantee he's at the Roadhouse, at his usual table, testing the limits of his constitution and the limits of Jo's stock, not to mention his own private stash. It's two parts the continual celebration of his survival, and arrival, and one part denial. If he just focuses on that there's reason to celebrate, it's easier to ignore the whys, and the hows, and most of all the whos.

His favourite big brother around, plenty of interesting people, both old and new, it's never been hard to find someone to have a bit of fun with, or at the expense of, depending on his mood. This is still one of his favourite places.

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo does a round of tables. She knows she doesn't have to, she has staff, but that's like saying there aren't monsters and demons to hunt here, so she could just stop being ready for it. She can't. Stop being ready, or stop doing the job that's second nature to her clearest.

It doesn't stop her from dropping her newest load of plates and cups in a sink and, instead of going right back out, just stopping and leaning on the bar almost to the point her stomach is flat, and her upper arms almost too, hands folding carelessly to prop her chin, for a head tip, that is mostly chin more than head, toward his cup. "What is it tonight?"

And enter one world class grump

[idjitminder]

"Well balls."

Another Roadhouse.
Another universe.
As Dean would say.. 'awesome'.

Screw it. He may as well head in and get a drink, get a lay of who's in the bar, who remembers what and all that good bullshit.

He's really getting too old for this multidimensional hopping.

[notthatpond]

Leaning on the bar is the kitsune. It's a good night with all the faces in there so she might as well help out with serving. Not that she does it very often. She's pretty sure that she's kept off the rota too much to keep her safe. But honestly there's no place she's felt safer than the roadhouse.

"Wanna beer or something else to drink?" Amy recognises the face from a while back.

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo's a while in coming. As much as she's sometimes in the bar, Jo's as much not in the bar, too.

That's the point of having a staff that involves a second bartender, two part-time bartenders, two waitresses, and a bouncer, that all cater to a crowd that is at times at least half not made of things that go bump in the night or people who handle the things that go bump in the night, right?

She's got three other floors just here, and the bunker, and the network, and it's work, and people leave her alone and let her do it. Even if they do bug her to look up from the Library's or Bunker's books and eat sometimes, and Amy, at least, at times does try and get her to sleep. And Jacob will come distract her with new drawings for the fridge. Or angels will just outright invade the Library, like an announcement she's a pet that's been gone unacceptably too long.


She gets back. She does. She remembers that life still happens. Okay. Sometimes, like tonight, she remembers tequila still happens, and tequila is a god. But that's about the same thing in their world somedays, right? Which is why Jo Harvelle has pulled out one of the new stock bottles not up yet, and she's grabbed two shot glasses, since Amy pointed her at someone sitting the far end of the bar. The look for her, and the staff, that says he's been here a litltle while.

(It's not the way she ran at him, the first time he appeared here. So many months ago.
It's not the way she refused to talk about his and Rumsfields disappearance afterward.)

Still. There's tequila. Plunked on the counter. Two shot glasses. Plunked right beside it.
Because tequila is a god, and a goddamn language, sometimes, that hunters know best.



And there's still: "Hey, old man."

[nothellsbitch]

There's something about seeing people you know are supposed to be dead that just sets the whole world on a tilt that Dean doesn't think he'll ever get used to. But somehow, it's easier with some than others.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he drawls, sliding into the seat next to him at the bar.

[nomorefistbumps]

The old cagey man has been at the bar for awhile and Krissy has seen a number of her people chatting him up. She had never met Bobby Singer, the day she should have was when she met the Winchesters instead. That's life, especially in the hunter lane. So, Krissy has no idea who he is. But he seems well-known and that makes her curious.

"Want another?" she asks, gesturing to the empty drink on the bar in front of him.

Between s7&8, Purgatory timelines

[nothellsbitch]

[Arrival
I saw the moon fall, I watched the color fade from everything ]

From one minute to the next, it's teeth and blood and steel and claws and then it's a startled jolt, a swarm of unfamiliar faces and the faint scent of cedar as he wakes in an unfamiliar space. No woods, no shadows, no red-or-yellow glints in the dark. Just faces he doesn't recognize looking just as confused and on edge as he is. And a boat. A boat with no water, somehow suspended midair. And their apparent destination up ahead, a set of islands equally hanging mysteriously in the air. He has a lot of questions, but he doesn't voice them, because based on the fearful and confused mutterings around him, no one here will be able to answer them.

Dean Winchester is used to a lot of Weird. His whole life is drenched in Weird, down to the bone and into the very fiber of his being. But this? This he doesn't have words or guesses for.

And then there's a stop and a packet of information shoved his way that doesn't make anything any clearer.

It's awhile later when he finds himself trudging down a path that leads to a bar with a too-familiar sign out front. More than active choice of movement, it's disbelief in what he's seeing that propels him forward, toward the door he wrenches open.

He isn't anything like ready for what greets him on the other side.

[Settling In
The world is spinning but only in gray, the days stay the same, I'm scared of changing ]

It's been awhile. Weeks that he stopped counting a long time ago. His brother's the wrong age, long-dead people are alive again, there are fucking Angels everywhere he looks. And none of that is even counting the monsters-that-aren't, the kid-who's-not hunter he hadn't seen in awhile , or the apparent child hunter army that seemed to assemble here.

These islands are a lot for Dean to take in, but bit by bit, day by day, he's managing it.
Even when he hates every second of it and wishes, far more than he likes to admit, to go back to the wasteland of monsters that's nothing but kill of be killed.
It was less convenient, but it was still far easier than this.

Dean's perched at the far end of the bar, nursing the he's-not-counting-why-are-you'th drink of the evening. Maybe one day, he wong have to spend so much of his time remembering what being a person is like. Today isn't that day.

I CAN'T CHOOSE. I HATE YOU, PART I

[tobeclosetohim]

There are two pencils.

One is presently stuck into Jo's hair, which is piled in a mess of half-waves, half-curls up on her head, hanging down to only about the bottom of her neck, and the other is present clenched between her teeth, clipboard in one hand, as she's reached up the damned atleast-twice-or-three-times-as-tall-as-her-body bottle wall, to grab one and check its level. She's sure it's empty, and damned if she's going to call Sam or Gabriel or Merlin to help her with stocking of all things.

She'd just get on the damn counter, or a stool, if it came to that. But it doesn't.

Her fingers just catch on the bottle, and she's letting out a short, bright, "Ha!" around pencil number two as the door opens and she's dropping back to her feet. Calling over her shoulder (as she juggles clipboard, bottle, and pulling the pencil from her mouth) without looking, "We open in about ten, but feel free to grab yourself a seat."

I CAN'T CHOOSE. I HATE YOU, PART II

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo's not sure some things get better. Some things stay like a splinter under your skin.

That's how it feels when she pushes open the backdoor, having come up from the Bunker with a stack of books, and then up-to-and-down-frown the Library, to the bar and the sight of Dean Winchester at the end of the bar. She'd say her bar, but kind of like the other three floors of the Roadhouse, and the Bunker, it's not entirely a thing that's ever just hers. It was never meant to be.

It's not even like he has to drink at the bar, itself. He has a room. He knows where the backstock is.
Where the wine cellar is. Knows how to use the picture portals. Has an entire bunker if he wants it.



But he's at the bar. With that same expression he seems to get, every time you find him like this. Drinking alone. Without his brother at his side, or Krissy peppering him with that crooked smile and a load of insults that would make Jo proud, or someone else. Anyone else. Everyone. Bobby. Her mother. But this look. This one. Right here. This shadowed one he covers in a second the moment anything shifts.

Will if she says something. Anyone says something. Steps close by. Even to order their own drink. Even ignoring him to do it.



Same as he could, she could, too. She could turn around. She could leave him, his drink, this look the hell alone.
She could not get herself into the exact same shit she gets herself into every exact same shitting time.




Still she ends up walking toward the bar, and that end of the bar, and that seat.
The words on her lips an ease that have nothing to do with her head. (Or heart.)

"This a pity party for one, or is company allowed?"

Arrival and bring on the pain

[idjitminder]

"Helluva mindfuck, ain't it?"

Bobby hasn't home in, not yet. He's still sitting outside, watching the building and the people coming and going. A few random wards and symbols are sketched out in the dust before him.

Second verse, same as the first.

But with Dean, maybe he can make his way inside and take on any threats with Dean at his side.

Arrival

[lotsoflaughs]

Gabriel looks over from his usual spot at the bar with his drink to look at Dean, eyebrow raised. He knew as soon as Dean arrived on the islands and was just waiting for him to show up. "You look like ten miles of bad road. Couldn't even drop by your place for a shower and change of clothes?"

If Dean expected anything else, he has clearly hit his head on something hard one time too many.

Arrival

[badpuns]

Balthazar's settled well into life in Medietas - no siblings trying to tear each other apart, no Apocalypse to stop, no rebellion, no war. There's been little conflict at all, really, or at least, little that he's gotten himself involved in beyond fending off some venomous bunnies.

Each time the Roadhouse door opens, he half-expects it to be someone from home. He figures they'll probably all find their way here sooner or later. It keeps things interesting at any rate.

This time it's Dean, and he couldn't honestly say he's shocked - of all the beings he's ever encountered, the Winchesters probably top the list of ones who, as a general rule, never follow any laws of the natural order of the universe. Balthazar turns in his chair to look towards him, and takes a drink from his glass. "Well, it's about time you turned up."

Arrival

[notthatpond]

Amy bounced down the stairs that led up to the private area of the roadhouse and leading out to main bar. Sure she could go out the other way but she always liked to go through the bar to see who was there.

A quick glance to see who was behind the bar and a wave before...

That was when the door opened.

Amy froze half way across the room.

Of course he had to show up. Jo and Sam would be thrilled to see him. They'd also be the ones to protect her from him. Merlin, Gabriel and the other Angels too. This was safe. This was home. All the time there was a part of her screaming internally. Telling her to turn and run. Find Jacob and hide him.

You ask you get!

[notarambler]

Sam is down behind the bar taking inventory and grumbling quietly to himself because he forgot to do this last night and Jo is going to hand him his ass if he doesn't finish. He finishes and pops back up startled to see his brother at the end of the bar.

"Dean," he says roughly shaking his head unsure if he's seeing the real thing or a memory. He vaults over the bar. "Dean!"

The Bartender

[notarambler]

Sam is at his normal spot behind the bar checking inventory, chatting with various customers and mixing drinks. He watches the Roadhouse proudly knowing how hard all of them had to work to get here. He can't help feeling proud of this. Killer bunnies, alternative universes and various other insane things and the Roadhouse was still here. He liked to think Ellen was looking down at them from wherever she was and smiling.

[notthatpond]

Amy might still be a little twitchy given that Dean is around but she'll be more damned than she is if that was going to stop her going downstairs.

She waited until he'd finished speaking to the last customer before she asked, "What you thinking about?" There may have been some glancing around to see where Dean was too.

Later..... MUCH Later

[lovesherboys]

Mary stood in front of, well, The Roadhouse from the looks of the sign. She had never been here before, but it seemed friendly enough. Anything would be better than being stuck in a parallel world with Lucifer. She ran her fingers through her messy hair.

Her hands itched for a knife or gun, hell she'd even take a bat at this point. She lacked anything but her wits to defend herself. She turned the knob letting herself in quickly before sidling up to the bar.

[tobeclosetohim]

"Hey, if you want a--" Is how Jo's words start, as she's looking up from hanging a drink to the customer at the table in front of her to the newest person grabbing a stool, but it drops entirely because Mary Campbell nee Winchester is standing in the Roadhouse. Mary, who Jo hasn't seen since, fuck, the beginning of her time in Lawrence, a whole universe ago, before she got out of there like standing it was setting her on fire.

There's an awkward second. She looks away. Toward the bar, where Sam isn't, and the restroom, where she can't spot Dean either, at least not from where she's standing. Maybe that's for the best for this moment. Maybe it helps the table really doesn't care that she steps away without any more words. It's Harvelle's, not a soda pop shop or a diner.

It takes a second, once rounding the bar, to start anywhere, but she does. She's a bartender. "You look ... new."


She's already thinking about getting her phone. Texting Dean. She has to tell him, and Sam.

Jo Harvelle - Half-a-Week to A Week Later

[tobeclosetohim]

A day passes. Then, another. Then, another. Another. They pay the way they always do. Too fast. Too slow. The Roadhouse with more people underfoot in all the higher floors and new bedrooms conjured for each: Bobby returned (if no Rumsfeld), her mother, Sam and Dean's mom. Dean.

Even as the first few days of the first week begin a slow ease, it still sits like a thick pall, too. One that could dissipate with a strong enough breeze, or one that could rouse to a tumult of rain and lightning to batter the windows.

It almost like the air crackles right beneath itself.
She'd blame the Angels or the Wizard, but it's not that.


Still given the chance she might blame them anyway. It was easier to cling to the few things that were known, months and months known, at the edge of a precipice, not sure which would. But for the moment, Jo simply turned the page of the newest book in the library, one leg up, with her bare foot on the chair, reading at the table in the middle she could be found at so often lately.

A week?

[notthatpond]

It felt longer than a week. So. Much. Longer. Trying to keep some sort of normal routine for Jacob. But somehow slipping from it at the same time. New people. New rooms. Slightly awkward meetings and trying to keep the seven year old from saying things or finding out things he shouldn't.

"I'm beginning to think this is your new room." She'd seen her friend there so often it felt like it. As long as she was getting some sleep too, she was a mom she couldn't help the odd urge to mom at people she cared about. "Then Jacob will get jealous because of all the books..." Amy laughed quietly.