milliways_bar | (no subject)

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dean winchester

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Delysia is up and about, early for her. There is a fitting for a new dress she needs to get to by 11, so she decides to pop into the bar for a quick breakfast. It's so much easier than wheedling Nick's housekeeper into doing it for her.

[tiny tag: delysia lafosse]

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Don't tell Sam, but Dean might be nursing a little hangover.

Because fuck it all if he's gonna admit to a stress headache or anything like that.

Yesterday was kinda shitty.

Which also means that, hey, hot chick is a nice distraction. Or she could be. He'll take it.

Dean tries to catch her eye, giving a friendly grin as he does so.

"Hey there, sweetheart."

Sweetheart? Normally Delysia would be huffy at a comment like that, but it's a nice morning and the young man's very attractive smile is hard to pass up.

"Good morning to you." She gives her head a slight toss as she picks up her coffee cup, an easy smile on her lips.

"Can't say as my head would agree with you, but it's lookin' up."

He's still grinning.

Because, guess what--she's still hot.

"Did you have a long night?" Delysia is familiar with those. "I'd recommend a Bloody Mary - they always do wonders for my headaches."

Even with bags under his eyes, the young man before is quite adorable. She sticks out her hand. "Delysia Lafosse."

"Pretty long, yeah. I'm gonna pass on the Bloody Mary, though."

Talk about bad associations.

He's hoping she's not expecting a kiss on the hand, because, uh--no.

He shakes hers anyway. His hands are callused, with torn cuticles and grease underneath the nails.

"Dean. Winchester. Nice to meet you."

Delysia? Seriously?

Oooo, a working man. Intriguing. "A pleasure, Mr. Winchester."

Winchester, and American by the sound of it. Heir to the gun fortune? Even more intriguing.

"And what do you do, Mr. Winchester, that makes your night's so long?"

Yeah, uh.

"You mind callin' me Dean? And, uh--"

He shrugs a little, halfway to careless.

"This time it was just a pretty shitty day. You know how that goes."

"Of course. Dean."

Delysia turns towards Dean against the bar, leaning more towards him. "I do indeed. It might be a bit early, but would you like to join me for a drink? Or a cup of coffee if that's more your pleasure."

"Got a long drive ahead of me, today. Coffee'd be fine."

Coffee and doughnuts, actually.

"You're not into tea and shit?"

"Well, I do live in London, so I've had to get used to tea. But I much prefer coffee."

Delysia turns to the bar and a pot of coffee, another cup and a plate of crullers appears.

She offers the plate to Dean with a smile.

Dean's grin is crooked as he snags some of the food.

"Thanks. London, huh? You like it over there?"

"I adore it! Such a lovely place and interesting people. Though I don't want to stay there forever."

She glances at him. "I aim to be in Hollywood within a year or two."

What the fuck is it with California?

Never mind.

"Yeah? I've been out that way. It ain't that exciting."

Delysia looks at him in shock. "Really? But all the stars and glamour and movie studios! How can that not be exciting?"

"Uh."

Dean looks a little taken aback, which is probably why he takes a giant bite of cruller.

Really.

"Dunno. Guess because it's a bunch of rich people that can't take care of themselves?"

Uh.

"Dude, I sleep in freakin' cheap-ass motels. They're pretty much the same wherever you go."

Delysia stares at him, her face falling a bit. So, working man after all. Oh well.

"But, it's Hollywood. And I want to be an actress, so it's where I'm going to need to be." Cue stubborness.

"Motels?" She looks confused.

Dean salutes her with his coffee-cup.

"Well, you do what you need to do, I guess. Seems to work out okay for most people."

He grins.

"You don't have 'em? They're kinda like--ground floor hotels, only a lot shittier. We've seen a couple with lobster decorations. Or fucking disco balls. I'm guessing you're not big on that kinda thing?"

Delysia looks even more confused. What IS this boy talking about?

"I'm afraid I've never heard of a motel or a disco ball?"

And then the lightbulb appears. "Oh! What year is it in your world?"

"Comin' up on 2007."

Dean gives her a quick once-over.

Well, maybe it's a little less than quick.

"I'm guessing you're from somewhere farther back?"

"A bit, yes. It's 1939 for me."

Delysia notices his look and might just move her body into a more attractive position. Because it's more comfortable, of course.

Hey, Dean appreciates it. A lot.

"Damn. That's pretty far back there. So this whole bar thing is kinda weird for you?"

Not that it ain't weird for anyone, but--

Dean figures this is better than blurting out something dumbass about shitty timing and war.

You know. Because Sam would kill him.

"We do have bars in 1939," Delysia replies, teasingly. "But yes, it was definitely a surprise to arrive here! The first time I found myself here, I was almost in my undergarments."

And now that Dean's brain is kinda back online . . .

"Yeah? That must've sucked. Uh."

"It would have been most embarrassing." Delysia innocently takes a sip of her coffee.

"Yeah," Dean says. "I can imagine."

And oh boy, can he.

"Mmm." Delysia arches her back a bit.

"It's so strange how the door here will just appear sometimes. Have you ever come here at an odd time?" she asks innocently.

"Kinda, at first."

Oh, yeah. She's got a nice figure.

Wait, what?

"Now it's pretty easy to get here when I wanna get here."

Uh.

"I hope it'll get easier for me, too." Delysia giggles. "I can only imagine ending up here instead of the shower or closet one day!"

Yeah, she's totally unfair sometimes.

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