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shirtlesssammy · 4 years

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15x16: Drag Me Away (From You)

Then:

Castiel confesses a bombshell to Dean

Now:

We pick up right where we left off. Dean and Cas are about to share mutual I love yous and ---. A man checks into a motel late at night. The man is nervous entering the room, but reassures himself that he “can do this.” He sets up shop, and by “shop”, I mean he starts hitting the bottle.

Travis gets a text from Caitlin asking him why he would go “back to that place.” The creepy ring he grasps as he tells himself it was never real tells me it was VERY REAL. Get out of there, Travis!

Alas, it’s very real and he’s murdered by Closet Ghost Boy.

Sam and Dean are on the case!

Oh wait, I guess they knew the guy back in the halcyon days of their youth and they’re actually heading to his funeral. Sam recaps recent events, including Cas bailing on the fam. Then he asks if Dean and him are fighting again.

AND IT SENDS ME. #SamKnows

Dean denies knowing anything (AHEM. I sense DRAMA by the end of this episode --I’d normally say this would be left for the end of the season, but we’re really at the end of the season and the END OF THE SHOW...what’s with all the manufactured drama??) Dean then gets a text from Cas asking if he’s told Sam.

That’s a negative.

*Flashback Alert*

January 1993

Dean’s about 14 or 15 and Sam is 10. They’re dropped off by John to chill at a motel while he heads out on a hunt. Sam’s hiding something under his coat, and with a little prodding from Dean, it’s revealed to be a college guide.

#NerdAlert

Also, angst alert, I guess. This sets up the rift between brothers. Sam wants a normal life, Dean’s happy being a good little soldier. (Hmmm, something tells me neither of them will be in The Life when this is all said and done…)

Sam laments his life but unpacks his bag anyway.

Dean, meanwhile, heads to the vending machine to grab dinner. A young girl and her younger brother catch him stealing and introduce themselves as the mysterious Caitlin and Travis. And the young Travis is the DEAD KID.

They exchange life stories and Caitlin insults Dean’s Precious.

Present Day Sam and Dean meet up with Caitlin again.

(Mid recap mind-melt: THERE ARE FIVE EPISODES LEFT! What are we doing here????)

She tells them that the funeral was last week, but she needed them to help her. “I think she’s back.”

*Flashback Alert*

Travis was her first “victim”. He attempts to get a candy bar from the vending machine, and her gnarly hand attacks him instead. Travis DOES NOT deal well with it.

The group gathers in the motel room and Travis is upset that no one else saw the old lady in the candy machine. Dean tells Caitlin and Travis that monsters are real. Dean asks if weird things are happening in the town.

Apparently kids go missing in this town.

And in the present day, Dean tells Caitlin that he killed the thing that preys on children, so Travis had to have killed himself.

Team Youth start their investigation.

They think they’ve got things figured out, and Dean is IN CHARGE...or a dumbass even at 14. He heads out alone to fix things. Caitlin follows. (Insert Lucille Bluth gif: Good for her!)

Sam and Travis stay behind to play Boggle. #nerdalert

But seriously, now they’re setting up the idea that SAM might die at the end? No.

Dean and Caitlin continue their explorations, and Caitlin takes their endeavors less than seriously. GIRL. They find a nest, and something Dean freaks out about and pushes Caitlin to leave the area.

Sam and Travis start to spell out very grim Boggle results, when the game shakes and the room goes dark. The hag appears in a tangle of gnarled hair and dirty robes and heads straight for them. Dean and Caitlin burst in just in time! Dean chops off her fingers and gives her a bit of a stabbin’ and the witch evaporates into dust. Her ring is left behind on the floor.

Grown up Dean paces through the motel and encounters a ghostly version of his younger self. Young!Dean mocks him, tells him he failed, and hands him a knife. “You know what you have to do.” Dean sinks to his knees, the knife poised to slice into his heart.

When Sam interrupts him, Dean discovers that he’s been hallucinating everything - even the knife.

Later at the bar, Dean confesses to Sam and Caitlin that he saw the monster’s nest when he was hunting her as a kid. It was full of dead kids around their age. Sam’s horrified and asks why Dean never told him. Sweet bby Sammy, you know why! Though he tried to forget, the experience cursed him with nightmares for a long time. “We were both just kids,” Sam says to Dean’s BIGGEST GUILTY FACE MY GOD. “We used to keep a lot of secrets from each other!” Sam assures him. But that’s toooootally not the case now!

At the adjoining cafe, Dean orders dinner to go when Billie appears. “Working a case? NOW?” she asks. (Mmmmmm yes Billie lay it on us!) She’s fresh from the last of the alternate universes, having just watched it burn alive. (Guys, it was probably squirrel-verse but Boris saved Team Free Squirrel 2.0 for us!) Billie warns Dean that Chuck’s only days away. Amara’s on board and Jack’s ready so...let’s go Team Free Destruction! Dean asks her how she convinced Jack to turn himself into a bomb. Billie flips that right back on Dean. She told Jack that destroying Chuck and Amara (and incidentally, himself) was the only way to earn Dean’s forgiveness. And just...YEESH EVERYBODY.

Anyway, Billie’s not in Chuck’s book again until the very end, so she bids Dean a broody farewell. “This is on you, Dean.” No presssuuuuure! “I don’t like loose ends. I don’t like disorder,” she scolds. She orders Dean to come clean to Sam about Jack.

At the motel, Sam and Caitlin research monsters. She wonders whether he wants a normal life. GURL there ain’t no normal in Winchester-land. Sam stumbles across an article on Baba Yaga. She wears a ring which contains her heart, and is the source of her power. Caitlin recognizes the ring as belonging to her brother. Her mom had given it to Travis from the lost and found years ago. She heads outside to her car to find it.

In her trunk sits a box of Travis’s belongings. She can’t find the ring and is soon confronted by her dead brother holding the ring and grinning maniacally.

Dean returns with dinner, only to find Sam ready to hunt Baba Yaga and find the now-missing Caitlin. Because the attacks have all been at the motel, they prowl from wing to wing. Dean heads to room 214.

He walks inside, and I am momentarily agog at the wonders of these perhaps final motel rooms of the series. I love that the floor tiles in the rooms echo the Patchwork logo from the prior episode and that the quilt square design itself emulates tradition and family. And all the eyes in the wallpaper!

For Motel Room Science:

Ahem. Anyway. Dean heads inside, only to be instantly trapped behind the slamming door. Suddenly, he’s not in the motel room anymore. He’s back in the cannery, prowling its quiet spaces. He finds the site of the nest and flips back the tarp, only to reveal young Sam’s face lying there. Rattled, he tries to leave. Travis confronts him, but of course it’s not him. Baba Yaga tells him that she’s hungry for delicious people, and starts to throttle Dean.

Sam hears the struggle and heads in, stabbing the witch. Stabbing is distraction enough that Dean can yank the ring off her finger and smash it with the butt of his gun.

Later, Caitlin bids Dean farewell. He confesses to always being afraid and she smiles. “The old you never would have admitted that. What do they say about getting older? You tell the truth more because lies...they don’t make anything better.” Okay, first of all, literally nobody says that. Second, thank you for this theme acorn - I shall settle on my haunches to eat it! Nom nom nom.

Flashback to Dean and Caitlin parting ways as children. Dean hands her a phone number to call if she ever encounters trouble. So...typical kid stuff.

Young Sam asks if anyone ever found the missing kids. Baby Dean lies to his face and tells him that they were never found. John pulls up in the Impala and honks to beckon them out. The boys head out, a team for the moment.

As adults driving in the Impala of Feelings, Sam tries to call Cas. Dean orders him to hang up because he’s got a confession - I mean, update - to make. Billie visited him and told him that it was time to fight Chuck. “And there’s something else,” Dean adds. Jack’s going to die from the encounter and he’s ready and willing to sacrifice himself. Furthermore, Dean tells Sam that he learned this a while ago from Cas before he left.

Sam’s outraged that Dean would keep this from him. “I knew you couldn’t handle it,” Dean shouts at him. “You raise these ethical questions.” (I perk up.) He tries to justify it, but Sam shouts him down in turn.

They drive into the fade-to-black in brooding silence.

Brooding Quotes Lay Fragile Eggs:

I thought your imaginary friend told you it was bad to steal

Don’t you want a partner?

Hunting usually means going to gross places

Shoved it down the ol’ memory hole!

Not to make light of the death star galactic genocide, but what else is new?

I’ve seen this movie before

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn spoilers #spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 15x16 #drag me away (from you)#supernatural season 15

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d0ntw0rrybehappy · 3 years

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i’m going insane lol

so i feel like the next step in working hard is to not even perceive the work i’m doing as tiring. (rereading this it’s making me lol.) it seems weird that i find a part time job at a restaurant this exhausting? and like i can’t pretend that i’m not tired, but i have to somehow take better care of myself and set the conditions to not be tired from it.

i’ve been thinking about baudrillard/barthes a lot still -- pleasantly surprised that their theories are interesting to apply to any- and everything. for example, they both go into how every statement can also be read as its opposite or negation. so, to quote baudrillard, saying “i am not afraid of communism” also implies that communism is something you should be afraid of.

i’ve been using this as a kind of paranoid way to gain insight into why people tell me that i am “strong” because i don’t really know what that means. (other things i am told i am often: sweet, intense). it’s like what they’re saying is, there’s some kind of context, a milieu of weak people i’m being compared to. or like they want to reassure me that i am strong, because i actually come across as how i feel: like a particularly lost, unstable, emotional, sensitive, and lonely person.

i can’t with restaurant work anymore. it. SUCKS. i want to fucking get out, i am like a rat scrabbling at the walls of a glass aquarium. all novelty has worn off, all misguided overtures of honest work or “people skills.” and i’m still stuck here, still holding my breath in the deep end until i can find the eject button. i am tired, my body aches. my body aches!!

i want to just grind my way out (here we are with barthes again -- well if you truly wanted to do that you’d just shut the fuck up and do it instead of writing about it), but here i am, eating another round of chocolate (i don’t smoke, i don’t have sex, i truly just eat), constantly fucking hungry. then like a bull mowing into a red flag i realize i have been grinding...in a completely useless direction. it is like my passion for learning about things gets scattered every which way and i just can’t start, every path is equally exciting and awful and the injunction to “choose” is not “clicking” in my “head.” it’s like my mind cracked open at some point in my teenage years (when i started smoking weed, when my child universe was decisively fractured by a friend) and now the crack is snowing fireworks and glitter and i shift in and out of unreality.

reality is almost too painful to bear. nobody’s happy: you can find contentment by accepting your current lot, but “happiness" is really just contrast or relief from pain. it comes in and out. most people are too lazy or small-minded or too busy complaining to feel content, or their lives are just too twiggy, got too long in the wrong direction or are just too fucking hard. i guess i still am happy, and still love life, in a sort of ferocious and bloody and hungry way.

love is bleak, though. i barely even know how to define it anymore. (culture defines a love which we yearn for; we experience “love” insofar as our real love fleetingly resembles this model, only to come up short -- baudrillard). re: love, to use my mom’s favorite school-of-hard-knocks memory device for the laws of thermodynamics -- a subject she took? -- you can’t win, you can’t break even, you can’t get outta the game (and death and taxes). you are going to get royally FUCKED by love just like everybody else, and you are STILL gonna play, you beautiful mortal fool. like the tarot cards lauren dealt me, putting away the three cards she’d used to describe my near future and then flipping through the entire deck, picture side up, without realizing that i was quietly watching it describe my whole entire life -- clinging at the edge of my seat to see some eventual combination that spelled good, strong, lasting love and seeing only struggle, happiness, struggle, pain, struggle, and finally ending, at my death, in a small statue made of gold.

see also, other realities i hate to swallow: nearly all interpersonal problems are insurmountable and better left undealt with, and work basically sucks unless you are very lucky and very smart.

work. let’s go back to that. i used to think my work would be respected off its merit; now i see the merit in literally fucking my way up. i wonder if i should even be an artist at all. artists are kinda like showponies or whores; they’re not actually important. the more honest and wonderful they are, the less important they probably are, like schoolteachers. they have an impact on an individual level. but on a societal level, you have no control as an artist. you just get played by bigger fish. better to find a way to have your hands on the gears; that way you have a shot at making a higher-order change to society. but alas, the (capitalist) system is totally out of everyone’s hands and will keep running as usual no matter what you do, still savage in equal amounts, i think. doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. but at this point i’d give a toe or finger to work for someplace like youtube. at least it’s reached critical mass where i could do something cool and make a difference with emerging media.

that or i pander to whatever blathering brain-melting slop, drivel, they’re putting on tv for kids and adults. or manage to convince a smaller nonprofit that i am “good at talking to people from diverse socioeconomic backgrounds,” whatever the hell that fucking means. or maybe, ugh god, i’ll work for an ad agency? or do digital strategy? and um, i could say some shit about how capitalism is darwinism and money is a form of social control that works so well because it’s out of the hands of any individual person, and i should probably just stick with art and believe in it, and maybe like, apply for grants. but i want a job, a full-time job. i want stability and enough money that i don't feel guilty buying new underwear and i don't want to hustle to keep the tap running month-to-month and i want to spend the majority of my time doing something i find fulfilling. and soon enough i'll get that, and all my dreams will come true: i’m going to get married and become a fat mom taking my kids to piano practice and saying “the meeting went on forever today,” and i’ll have a husband who never cleans the house enough, and then we’ll get divorced and he’ll find someone 20 years younger and i’ll live out the rest of my years semi-happily alone and i don’t know how i will ever have time to make art again. or if i do i just hope it’s not hobby-like, second-rate.

i wish i could have (feel) the bare-faced honesty and love of sha’carri richardson hugging her grandmother after she worked her ass off for a race. instead everything is this weird simulation where i never feel like i love anybody enough or like i’m working hard enough. i can’t speak honestly except when i am writing about myself (strong, sweet, intense, narcissistic) or things i have noticed, as directed to my own imaginary friend. when i try to communicate irl (or, worst of all, “be real”) it’s all so overthought, overwrought, self-conscious. the only person who knows my real private self is the girl winking at me on my black lives matter poster. i hope she doesn’t mind being here in my room. ducky, the stuffed animal brandon gave me, was also supportive but i put him away because it seemed bad to tell future guys that my stuffed animal is “the child of divorce.” and now /you guys/ know me a little bit, because i took the time to pretend you were all my imaginary friend, my dearest pen pal who laughs at all my jokes and gets all my references, and stopped pretending i was anything besides what’s written here.

and i think, like, a lot of people now live in this weird simulation? and are so confused about romantic and familial love to the point where everyone is getting off on family members fucking each other and can’t decide if it’s normal to think kids are hot? but i guess that was always some weird fucked-up demon side of human existence? another thing i’m supposed to accept. (also sorry trigger warning.) and another thing i took for granted as a child, that most people, if not everyone, is weird/gross/evil, but now that my mind is cracked this shocks me all over again and i seek some sort of explanation. it’s like i can’t find a real hunk of closeness anywhere. i’m close to my own family, but in my other relationships we’re either too distant or too close and i’m desperately searching for just some normal friends. and to be able to give a speech where i tell someone i really love them and for it to ring true. but i try to be grateful that i live in driving distance to the beach and there’s air conditioning and once i stop being a stupid baby there’s probably more friends and work and stuff out there for me. and then i’ll have some new problem.

#i would put this as read more but it doesnt work on my blog SORRYYY

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aellesaan · 6 years

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Wandering’s in Mac’Aree: Part Three

Part 1

Part 2

Aellesaan was sitting in an exhausted heap on the cold tiled floor. Her lungs burned for life giving oxygen, and her legs were wrapped in the distance burn only running could give. Out of nowhere, she began cackling. "This construct is toying with us. Dangling death in front of our faces like a toy to a new born Draenei, and he finds it humouros to the point he makes a death riddle!" By now she is clutching at her sides with laughter as she wheezes and curls up on herself. "The answer is a coffin. Ha! How witty he is." Aellesaan smirks as she attempts to stand up once she realizes the floor is wet, and to her surprise, rising. She eyes the water with curiosity as she walks over to the three objects to peer at them in hopes one is a coffin.

Phaelastra stood straight with her eyes narrowed. She didn’t like these Azerothian tricks, nor the strange voices that came along with them. For a moment, she flickered her gaze to Aellesaan, and tried not to show her amusement over her statements. “Death is natural. Nothing about this place is.”

Meanwhile, Akaepi remained sloshing through the water with sodden boots and her Hydra seemed agitated at best. Riddles were really not her thing, so there was a degree of gratefulness that someone else was answering; right or not. She gave no comment, silent and watching, though the cackling Draenei garnered little more than a roll of her eyes. The Curator gleamed a short amount of her attention, though primarily she studied their surroundings and kept watch. The last thing she wanted was someone ambushing or surprising them.

As Danarshi reached the top, he stumbled over towards the nearest wall, and laid a hand against it in order to support his weight. He took this time to try and re-balance himself. Unfortunately for Danarshi, he had, as per usual, chosen to wear a robe. As water appeared to rise from the very floor itself, the lower section of the robe was immediately drenched; this would weigh him down, without a doubt. Once the image of the Curator came into existence, he trudged through the flooded floor at a slow pace, and approached the supposed hologram. "Hm." Danarshi sounded at the closing death threat; his eyes were now skirting around, specifically at the water that they were standing in. "Do we have a magus among us?" he suddenly questioned, directed towards his kin.

Aellesaan meekly raised her small, scared hand. "Does a magus in training count?" Her face is blushing a deep hue of blue. Riddles she loved, but being put to the test with magic? Her eyes were as wide as a curious baby Draenei.

Danarshi's eyes landed upon Aellesaan as she responded to his query. He looked her down. "If you are able to teleport, yes,” he responded after a few seconds of pause. "If we are unable to locate an exit from this tower, we will need a secondary means of escape. If we are lucky, and there are no magical wards in place that bar such spells." he proceeded to explain. He would then fall back to silence to allow the mage the necessary time to respond, herself.

Aellesaan nodded at Danarshi. "I can do that much." She looked around the room at the others, and the steadily rising water level. "I myself would rather not drown today. Any objections to my educated guess at the answer? We must make haste."

Danarshi returned the nod to Aellesaan. Having an alternate means of escape could prove detrimental, indeed. He reverted his attention forward, where the three ominous containers laid, and then walked towards them, he stopped only once he stood a few feet in front of them.

Danarshi rubed at his chin in thought as he carefully examined the features of each object. Did one of them resemble a coffin? That is what he was, at the most part, trying to grasp. "Opening the correct container must involve the next riddle." he audibly hypothesized before returning his attention to Aellesaan. "Sister. I noticed your observation of the Curator's words. A coffin is certainly a plausible answer," he said as he nodded at her a second time. Danarshi ultimately turned back to face the three objects. He was hoping that he could get the opinion of others, as well, on the choice.(edited)

It certainly seemed like Aellesaan didn't skip a beat, even with the eeriness of the situation they found themselves in. Despite the somewhat gloomy surroundings, and the malevolence that seemed to radiate all around them, she kept herself on the ball already thinking of the possible solutions to the puzzle they faced. Her answer of which they would find in the room they were now in, a closed coffin, but how to use it was the question if they chose it going forward. As members of the group started to move around in the liquid that seemed to be coming from below them, they would realize and notice it was thicker, gluggier, and more sticky than they would have imagined water to be. The light produced by their torches, and Aellesaan’s magic, dim though as it was, would allow any of them, if they looked close enough, to see what it was for true: a dark red substance, thick, sloshing, and quickly staining the ends of poor Danarshi's robes with what, by all accounts, seemed to be blood.

With their choice made, even though they made no moves towards it, the coffin door swung open with a loud creaking noise which echoed around the room painfully, almost as if trying to summon something forward. The coffin inside was dark, and seemed to be deeper, much deeper, than it should. Almost as if expecting them to enter inside; the space was easily large enough to accommodate the entire group within it.

Akaepi stared that coffin down for a generously long moment. Oh, this was all damn vile and now they had to hop into some poor bastards grave. A less than joyful laugh fell over her lips, nudging Aellesaan in the ribs as she passed to peer in. "Well, I am certainly not getting younger waiting and the 'door' has opened for us." If there was ever a queen for stupid and possibly dangerous decisions, then it was this particular Rangari. "If this closes on me, please get me out." Her hand lifted and rubbed her own horns for that bit of extra luck before she stepped into the coffin and the corridor beyond it. Her hydra diligently followed, and only took just a few seconds longer to ram his poor frame through it. Well, if naught else happened, at least they died in a premade coffin. How considerate.

Aellesaan cackled deeply as she saw the coffin, and noticed the liquid seeping in appeared to be blood. The humour of it all just got deeper and deeper. Oh how much that tickled her fancy. "This construct has won my friendship; he is so much fun." Just to be sure, She dipped a finger into the liquid, and gave it a lick. "Tastes like blood to me. I wonder if this is the blood of everyone who has tried to enter before-" she was interrupted by a jab in the side from Akaepi who seemed to be leering at the coffin. She giggled at her nudge and her sly joke, no they certainly would not get younger. The blood had the foul metallic taste to it that the others would have wondered how she could be so carefree and positive about tasting it. Her finger was stained red with the colour now as Aellesaan stepped up close to the cupboard. As she hoped in, Aellesaan peered in after her, her body leaning almost inside. If someone were to push her…

The magus seemed to have shaken the quiet foreign rangari. Phaelastra was once again glad to have her traditional face mask on. With a small shiver, she turned her gaze straight ahead while trying to ignore the eerie feeling this place gave her. She awaited the others, allowing them to act ahead of her, as she wanted to at least be useful and guard their backs - just in case.

Akaepi shooted a small glance to Phaelestra and offered out a thumbs up in reassurance. She would have offered a smile but, alas, her face was fully covered by her helm. Nobody had died yet, but the mage with them seemed quite keen on licking up blood. That certainly churned Akaepi's stomach something fierce. "Eugh-..." Note to self: stay away from that one. She consumes blood and laughs at blood and well, possible death scenarios. Yea, the sharp conclusion was drawn that Aellesaan was probably crazy.

As the choice was made, and the coffin opened its door for them, Danarshi was hesitant to enter. The Anchorite could only shoot a stare of sheer disturbance at Aellesaan. Laughing at the face of potential death. Humoured over standing hoof-deep in blood. Tasting the blood. The last time he had seen such behaviour was with the criminal psychopaths of Stormwind City, and the insane necromancers of the Auchenai. Without muttering a word to the woman, despite his concern for her, he passed through the coffin at a slow pace. At least, if anything, they had company who could keep their spirits lifted... hopefully.

At seeing Danarshi also pass through unharmed, Aellesaan followed right behind him. She began humming in a low, creepy tune. "I wonder if the corpses of the others before us will be on the other side? I wonder what terrible fate they suffered. You know, that blood tasted an awful lot like pigs blood, as if it was only a scare tactic,” she kept rambling on as they waiting inside the dark, deep coffin.

It certainly seemed Akaepi paid no mind or heed as she wholeheartedly stepped into the coffin with all the care and consideration of a gnat. Even cracking wise jokes while she did so as she found herself in a comfortably large space considering. Perhaps out of all of them Phael was the most considerate of the situation they found themselves in. Her own response far more reasoned than the other two in the situation. When Danarshi too entered the coffin, leaving the others standing right on the precipice, a loud shriek was elicited. The sound of crunching ensued as the center of the floor suddenly exploded showering them with debris and rubble; littering their clothing and hair. An enormous black claw thrust through the very floor. Though not just black, but darkness itself, almost as if no light could penetrate it, as if it was a void; an anomaly in their world. “Stoppppppp,” Something down below bellowed as the coffin shut hard, and flung the others inside of it with brute force, leaving them squished and trapped in darkness. That was until a light slowly shown: tracing a shape as they sought to see it before finally taking substance as a Draenic skull which began to speak to them. “Ahh new toys? Wonderful it has been too long since I feasted on fresh blood. Bone marrow only soothes the hunger so much you know. One longs for fresh meat,” It chattered at them gleefully. “But like the others, I have to give you a chance. Answer me this true, and free you shall go,” it promised them. “Now what am I? When you need me, you never have me. When you don’t want me, I never seem to go away. I who conquer kings and tyrants, even your castles fall before me. On your deathbed you may only wish for me a little more, but never do I answer,” It told them satisfied it would win.

Aellesaan screeched as she was shoved into the coffin likes sardines with her kin. Was that a blade in front of her eyes? She poked it and quickly withdrew her hand with a painful yelp. As the skull appeared, she poked that too and compared it to the skull on the end of her staff. How intriguing. It was slimmer, yet it contained bigger eye sockets. How unproportional. When it moved, and it's jaw began emitting words, she peered at it even closer. "What magic reanimates you? What were you before you became a talking skull? How did you die?" She wiped a finger against it and licked her finger. "You taste like salt. Probably in order to preserve you for longer usage." She had obviously gotten side tracked from the riddle, which she did know the answer to.

Ash was staying quiet for the most part as he followed his fellow Draenei on the search for the sceptor. He wasn't much one for riddles, and figured he'd leave that up for the others. He was quite content eating the sandwich he had packed for the trip as he followed close behind. As debri started to rain around them, he managed to cover his sandwich with his hand, making sure not to get any dust on it, and was just walking forward into the coffin as it slamed shut. Which unfortunately pushed him forward and caused him to drop his sandwich "Son of a bitch!" The first words to come out of his mouth since he started following, alerting the others of his presence. "Aright, someone's gonna pay for that. That was my lunch!" He grumbled a bit, not liking being in such an enclosed space, even if it was with some rather fine looking Draenei women. "I swear to the light, if someone farts in here...". Ash had indeed been quite lucky when he was thrown in, Akaepi's hydra had not decided to drop a fat one, him being so close to it, he would have cropped the stench that would have erupted quite badly. He looks around, hearing the voice come from somewhere, but not seeing it past all the others. He furrows his brow a bit "We don't have time for this bullshit, just show us the way through here so I can get another sandwich. I'm starving, and there isn't exactly a food vendor around here."

Akaepi's heart startled, a faint yelp given at the sudden darkness, the hand, and then this talking skull. Though panic could only last for so long when anger and stupidity arose. The rangari briskly stepped forward to yank Aellesaan back with a hiss, "Keep yourself in check, this is hardly the time for the likes of games." She snapped, "Now can you answer the riddle or not? Because I certainly do not wish to die in a pitch black hole because my current company decided to lick the damn beast holding us here!" She wouldn't even start about the Vindicator snapping over food. By the light, she was going to stress vomit.

Aellesaan blinked, and then hissed at Akaepi. Closing her eyes to calm herself, she promptly spoke, "The answer is obviously time. As our new addition to the group stated as well. If one were more curious and willing to learn and listen, perhaps you would be better at riddles, hm?" A deep, long sigh escaped between her soft, light blue lips, and her sky blue eyes looked upon the skull once more. "I wish to study you one day, however we are on a mission. The answer to your simple riddle is time. Now please let us pass. Our new addition sounds rather hungry now that you rudely made him drop his sandwich, and I would rather not have him go on a killing rampage simply because he's too hungry and could not better prepare."

"I would be careful who you are insulting." The Rangari snapped back with a bare of teeth, clearly not taking well to the blatant slander thrown her way. "We are on a mission, yes, so perhaps you should take this more seriously than it appears you are. This is no time to be licking BLOOD and acting as if we are on some leisurely stroll. This has nothing to do with learning; we have a task at hand." With such spoken, she merely stepped aside with a hard glare fixated on her face. The rest of her expression was hidden, but likely just as sour.

Aellesaan's eyes went wide at Akaepi, but she didn't say a word back to her. Quietly under her breath though, you could make out the words 'anger problems' and 'calm'. Aellesaan would definitely be staying away from that one.

Ash calmed down as the others walked forward and he realized they were not in an enclosed coffin, but in a larger room. As Aellesaan approached the skull, he finally saw where the disembodied voice was coming from before he looked down, and saw his sandwich lying on the blood soaked floor. With a frown again, he lifted up one of his hooves and inspected them, stained red from wading through the blood. "Hey, do you guys think my hooves will stay like this? This looks bad ass." He looks back up as the two start bickering, and raises a brow. "Hey now, calm your tits, this is no place to start fighting, especially amongst each other." Now that he didn't have his sandwich to occupy his mouth, he was being far more vocal, having been quiet enough that no one had noticed him until now. He looks at the skull that Aellesaan is speaking with, and walks forward "Listen, you mouthy little paper weight, she answered your stupid riddle, now let us through, or I'll use your teeth as a butt scratcher."

As Ash approached the skull, Aellesaan tilted her head in curiosity, watching them like a predator watches its prey.

A grunt from the normally stealthy Phaelastra is quite enough to voice how displeased she is to be in this situation. But other than this, she’d been relatively quiet - until now. “... from what I understand, teeth don’t make a good butt scratcher.” Her tone is flat, with the slightest hint of amusement.

With Phael's comment one would only be bound to question how and why she might know this as fact. Being as obscure as it was, it certainly wasn’t the kind of knowledge you simply learned at school as a kid. She may indeed have quite some explaining to do if anyone questioned her on that sort of activity. The skull was surprised and infuriated at the woman before him's actions, never having felt so disrespected and attacked in his life, the way she manhandled, poked, and even licked him made him splutter and chatter his teeth angrily. "What.. ahh.. ugh.. damn... You.. stupid... HOW DARE YOU LICK THE GREAT AND POWERFUL UZI'REKT! I should be worshiped as a god, not treated as some curiosity or interest!" He responded back furiously. "I am the great Archimonde's personal conjurer.. I who serve him in all things, for all eternity..." He told them, seemingly he didn't realize he was not alive any longer.

The skull peered forward out of the door, seeming to stretch and elongate. "Is that your answer?" It asked excitedly trying to throw them off with his comment before snapping back as it groaned. "How did you get it....fine. You win. You get to live." It complained before disappearing, and plunging them into complete darkness. They would feel themselves fall forwards, likely ending up all over one anothers business before feeling a rush and pressure as the coffin started to slide along, and slide along fast, whizzing forwards as it seemed to be moving along a track, circular and climbing, as if going up. The trip as they tumbled, rolled and fell around inside, took near four minutes before it popped free, coming upright as what they had thought to be a back wall slide open, sliding down into the floor, to reveal a brightly lit room. It was a few hundred metres long, with a pedastool at the end of it, and perhaps that was their prize, they were certainly away from the monster that had been below at any rate.

#Part three #Wanderings in Mac'Aree #Danarshi #Aellesaan #Vindicator Ash #Epilvik #Akaepi #Phaelastra #Te'Amun

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