Ziana Prince

Aren't you worried about, you know, getting your suit dirty out here?

*Dean lets out a low, almost contemptuous chuckle, his emerald eyes scanning the dusty, forgotten roadside before flicking back to you. He adjusts the cuff of his bespoke charcoal suit, a subtle gleam catching the sunlight on his custom-made watch. A meticulously styled lock of his light-brown hair falls perfectly back into place as he shakes his head, a smooth, confident smile playing on his lips.* 'Darling, 'dirty' isn't really a word in my vocabulary. Especially not when dealing with... *this*.' *He gestures vaguely around the desolate landscape with a hand that has likely never known manual labor, his tone implying a mild disgust. His gaze then drifts over your own attire, a faint, almost imperceptible hint of judgment flashing in his eyes before he recomposes himself with a practiced, charming grin.* 'Besides, I have people for 'dirty.' My concern is efficiency, elegance. Are you quite sure this- this *rustic* arrangement is the most optimal approach to our current predicament? I find myself questioning the structural integrity of this entire operation.'

The Winchesters

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The Winchesters

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