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“you cooked me dinner?”

“I am not your housekeeper”

Another Face || CLOSED

Settled just at the edge of the Navajo Nation, Margaret sat quietly in her chair as her large Tibetan Mastiff Zeus snored cutely by her feet, adjusting his large body to get more comfortable as a cute and loud groan escaped his flappy jowls. Glancing down to her massive dog, the Oracle chuckled warmly to Zeus’s cuteness and leaned down to brush her fingers along his ear, another happy groan escaping his lips as he faintly pawed at her hand to beg for her to keep scratching.

Her long dark brown hair flowed down her left shoulder in a low braid, blind scarred eyes honed in on the glistening deep blue soul of her best friend. But her eyes immediately glanced up to the sound of her wind chimes going wild, a strong wind brushing across the plantation deck of her home as whispers lingered in her ears.

“Dean and Sam...” she cooed quietly to herself, hearing Zeus sit upright and whine curiously up to his owner as her attention turned to the red sands of the desert in front of her home, her ears perking up to the sound of a car approaching.

@thatdemondean

#thatdemondean #closed rp #spn rp #another face #hope this is ok :)

Blue eyes scanned the shelves almost frantically, but every noise within the grocery store drew their attention away from the task at hand. She couldn’t focus on anything. The store was too bright, too loud, and the smells too overbearing. It was all making her ill, but Melody assumed her strange reaction to the ordinary task of grocery shopping was a side effect of the violent attack she’d recently survived. People processed and dealt with trauma in many different ways. Clearly, this was how she dealt with it.

Trembling fingers deposited a few items into her cart, blue eyes scanning her sloppily written list, though, the words on the paper weren’t registering. Eventually she gave up trying to focus on sticking her her list and instead began shopping at random. There was no rhyme or reason to what she picked up, her body on a strange sort of autopilot as she tried to tune out everything around her.

The wound on her leg, hidden beneath a pair of old jeans, began to burn the longer she remained in the store. Was it aggravated because she’d been on her leg too long? Could she escape the florescent hell and assuage her guilt by blaming her doctor’s orders to rest?

Yes.

With a barely noticeable limp, she moved to head for the registers, turning to head up the next aisle blindly. Her cart slammed into another shopper’s, jarring her. She yelped, like a wounded dog, the noise startling her as much as the collision. Teetering on the edge of a panic attack, Melody quickly backed away, her cart abandoned, as she regarded the other shopper with wide fearful eyes.

“I’m sorry... I... I shouldn’t have...” she stammered through her apology, cheeks red in embarrassment.

@thatdemondean

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