ruinously | come sail away

Diana didn't get as far as she wanted to, in her quest to figure out if anyone on board knew how to navigate by the stars. It wasn't her fault, though. In all fairness. She'd been kind of sidetracked by Clarke-with-an-E's narrative about the end of the world and all. Being the optimist that she was, Diana had decided that she would take that knowledge back home with her and find a way to fix the future. But her optimism had not taken her far enough into figuring out how to actually do that.

Well, one step at a time, right? That's how it went.

Anyway, she'd agreed to check in with Anthony, so she made her way through the claustrophobic hallways, the following night, her guitar softly thumping against her back. She hadn't quite figured out how to use the shopping area yet, so she was still in the outfit she'd woken up wearing. Her bracelets clattered in time to the beat of her steps. Unconsciously, she started clicking her tongue along, sorting out a melody after a moment.

Not enough time to hum, though. She was at the cabin door, rapping her knuckles against the doorframe.

No, wait. She was humming. Except it wasn't one of her songs. It was I Want to Break Free. For some reason, Anthony made her think of Queen.

Sure, one step at a time.

Dean's made his way around, talked to people, did his civic duty of investigating and not getting caught.

But there's something about knowing hits bunk is his, even if he's sharing it with someone impressively irritating. So he's there with a bottle of liquor, frowning at it when the knock comes.

Huh. That's a first.

He gets up, pulls the damned thing open, and blinks.

"Yeah?"

Well, that wasn't Anthony. Diana blinked in surprise for a moment, her heavy eyelashes fluttering about her lavender eyes.

Of course. Duh! He would have a room mate! Just like she did.

Except he wasn't at all like Diana's scary-ass roomie. This was a...very attractive young man. Unfortunate haircut, but he had lovely eyes. Like one of those characters in a Japanese manga. She was ready for them to start sparkling with pixie dust or something.

"Oh," she said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Hi there."

He's still holding his bottle of liquor when he's greeted with the presence of a pretty damn hot woman, and while he appreciates the view, he has no idea who she is or why she's here.

"Uh. Hi. Can I help you?"

In any other situation, any other context, Diana would have had about a million witty replies. But, alas, such replies were meant for the club, a bar, the theatre, or pretty much anywhere that wasn't a super weird voyage of the damned cruise ship that no one remembered boarding.

"Well," she said, offering him a smile, "I was actually looking for Anthony. He told me this was his cabin, so you must be, like, his bunk mate, I'm guessing. Either that, or he lied to get away from me." Their meeting hadn't been without its awkwardness.

Diana's voice was aggressively West Coast. Almost like she'd studied the accent, perfected it. Like it was a second language and she wasn't a native Valley Girl. Because, of course, she wasn't. She had the natural lilt of a singer, though. Which went well with the guitar.

It was a whole vibe. One she'd spent a couple of decades perfecting.

"Oh, yeah. This is his cabin too, I guess. He's not here, though -- I have no idea where he went."

Dean's just kinda grateful that he's got some time to himself in the room, though he doesn't spend much time here, either.

"You wanna leave him a note or something?"

She shrugged, hair sliding over her shoulder. "That would be great," she said. "I mean, I'd call him on this thingy," she held up the cell phone, "but I have no idea who's gonna be listening in, you know?" Also, she hadn't figured out how to work it yet. But mostly the first thing. You didn't survive as long as she had in the world of darkness without a healthy amount of paranoia. Besides, they'd been given the damn things by the ship. She assumed.

A pause. And then she slapped the heel of her palm against her head. "Merde! Manners! They're totally a thing! What's wrong with me today?"

You know, aside from being kidnapped and held hostage on a boat?

Diana offered Dean her hand. "I'm Diana. Diana Abel. A-B-E-L. As in 'Caine and dot, dot, dot...'" She always introduced herself like that, whether she wanted to or not. She was reasonably convinced that the Father had somehow programmed her for it. That was a thought she hid away in the darkest corners of her mind, though. Because...ew.

"Yeah, fair enough." It's probably best not to have a bunch of private conversations over whatever the hell these little things are, God only knows who's bugged it and listening in.

"Dean Winchester," he says, giving her hand a shake. "I'd say it's good to meet you, but the circumstances kinda suck."

"So very much agreed," she said, offering him her hand. It was a very shiny hand, a ring on almost every finger.

Diana knew that women these days were expected to have a firm handshake. It was all about leaning in and asserting authority and that stuff. Good stuff. Great stuff. But Arty had pounded it into her head again and again and again. A weak handshake was best. You never knew if there was a hunter around the corner. You never knew who would notice skin that was cool and a pulse that was missing.

Arty worried too much.

In all of her life, Diana was pretty sure she'd never shook hands with a hunter. But even if she did, it wasn't like she was some kind of murdering psycho.

Not really.

She flashed Dean a smile. "Is that an English name? Is your family British?"

"Ha, no, no. Not British at all." God, Sam would be even more insufferable if they were British. Like he's not hoity toity enough.

"I'm actually from Kansas, little town called Lawrence. Not many people have heard of it."

Small, quaint. Dean's been back a time or two after the fires, and it's still pretty much how he remembered it. It's always a strange feeling when he sets foot in that town. Good, bad. Indescribable.

"The Midwest!" Diana giggled. "Well, I'll try not to hold that against you too much. I'm a city girl!"

And how. Of course, given the fact that it took--at minimum--at least 160 people to sustain a single Cainite (or, at least one who didn't want to be all murdery), it only made sense that she gravitated to places like New York, Chicago, and Phoenix.

Stupid Phoenix.

"I'm from LA," she said. As if the accent didn't make that perfectly obvious. "Gimme that delicious traffic any day!"

He laughs, easing back a smidge before gestures like, come on in. Why stand in the tiny hall, at least inside she can sit on Crowley's bed.

"Yup, that's me. I've only been to LA once." And, okay - he'd completely geeked out about being there, loved every second of being a PA. "It was a lot, but I liked it. Couldn't imagine living there, though."

She stepped into the cabin, looking around. A lot like hers. Cramped and uncomfortable. On a normal ship, she suspected it was because no one ever wanted to actually spend time in their cabins. Too busy having fun, doing limbo contests and playing bingo.

Which was apparently Anthony's idea of torture.

"It takes a lot of getting used to. Living in LA. Def not for the feint of heart. Or weak of stomach. But if you know how to look, and you have the patience for it, you can find incredible beauty there."

Cabin!

dont drink and tag

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ShipTalk

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