Like some dreadful dancing doppelganger,
Deter-less despite dodges, and ducks
As if they have no other want than
And provoke you until you—
The way they won’t let you hide
Or pretend that things look different
Than what they really are.
Like some stupid sun shinning
Shamelessly, shooting straight at
As if they have no other propose than
And shout at you until you want to—
The guy singing is as drunk as a skunk, but still hella fun to play.
By far My favorite of the night. Love me some good ol' blues.
So, in a move completely out of character and totally forced by a writing assignment, I'm actually in the process of writing a short story featuring--you guessed it-- Dean. (I mean seriously, did you expect something else?) That's right! A complete story arc and everything. It'll basically be a prelude, set before any thematic elements enter the young detective's life. Before the bullets, the Slayers. Before Mal and all the extra-natural things in the world. Just Dean Archer, sans jaded sarcasm.
Well some of it anyway.
Here's the first few paragraphs in the typical Dean Archer style, a kind of forward with an extensional look at things. If you've ever read any of my other Archer sinppits you shouldn't be surprised. Anyway, I'll stop rambling and just get to the (not really) good stuff.
-----------------
You never forget the first time you smell blood.
It's a harsh smell that spins around your mouth, sharp and coppery . As it shifts up your nose though, it turns musky, and something in your head tells you that the odor is just...wrong. That there is something dangerous near, because if everything was as it should be, that smell would never be diffusing in the air near you. Some primal force, the same that makes us fear the dark when we are young, cringes away, wanting to run as far from the smell as possible. Though at the same time some sick part of us wants to find out where the smell is coming from. Like spectators at the site of a car wreck or crime scene we search the morbid and disturbing out, unsure if what we’ll find, but curious all the same.
I guess it tells a great deal about us as a race; the fascination we seem to have with death and all that surrounds it. I mean, we are so scared by it that when we figure out that someday we will die that we convince ourselves that we’re invincible for about a decade afterward. In yet we sometimes seek it out, whether in knowledge or experience.
The first time that I smelled blood was in a dark warehouse in Tanic, Texas.
