Red Dragon Inn, Room 29...

Dean had been searching fruitlessly for Sam all day and had returned empty-headed and disheartened. He hadn't heard back from Vex and hadn't run into Lilli and was starting to feel all hope was lost. Exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally, he'd dropped into bed, intending on just closing his eyes for a few minutes when he'd fallen asleep.

Despite having spent the bulk of her afternoon dashing between the glen where her caravan lay parked and the busy, busy streets of the markets, Lilliana hadn't lost a single ounce of her zeal. She was determined, and a determined witch was a neigh unstoppable witch; especially if she was of the Garridan clan. There was a hefty pack strapped to the young woman's back, and that pack's contents clinked with every step. Noisy, yes, but it held what she needed, and it wasn't as though her mission required any sort of stealth....Not yet anyway. Thoroughly out of breath by the time she reached the bold, dark face of room 29's door, Lilliana gave a quick lean in to the wood; hearing nothing, she gave the doorknob a quick jiggle; finding it locked, she gave a quick murmur under-breath before giving it a kick.

Whoosh-CRACK! She hadn't meant for the door to crack open like that and slam against the wall, but you see, she was a bit overloaded and eager to be rid of it to begin the next series of arduous tasks.

Startled awake by the sound of the door being kicked in and quite possibly off its hinges, Dean rolled off the bed onto the floor with a thud and made a grab for the shotgun he'd brought with him through the portal, which he'd left leaning against the side of the bed within hands' reach. He propped the shotgun against a shoulder and popped up from the floor, leveling the gun at whoever had just busted his door down.

Eyes wide, she yelped. "Gah! D-dean! I's me!" Both Lilli's arms and her voice were up. While devoutly faithful to her old world ways, she was a learned creature due to many, many years on the road. Guns weren't foreign to her at all, or the damage they could do. Her bag was next to crash, although instead of against the wall, it met the floor with a horrifying series of sounds that were definitely along the lines of glass or fine ceramics breaking.

Dean's eyes mirrored Lilli's going just as wide and he immediately lowered the gun and laid it on the bed, hurrying over to Lilli and pulling her arms away from her face, a horrified look on his face that he'd aimed the thing her way. "Lilli! I'm sorry. Are you okay' I didn't mean to scare you. I....I wasn't expecting it to be you."

"No, no, no. M'sorry. I didn' think ya' were here, an' I want'ed t'ge' things ready fer ya' when ya' were....I'm st'ill used t'jus' walkin' in on m'family-" Cutting herself off midstream lest she babble or make her friend's face crack and crumble anymore, Lilli sucked in a breath and tried for a smile. Memories. She reminded herself. It's the memories making you un-used to the place. Still, every time she opened her eyes in the morning, she could swear she'd just heard her mother talking, or her brother crowing. Shaking her head, the red head gestured sheepishly to her sad, deflated looking pack on the floor by their feet. "I was ou' collect'in' things."

He searched her face a moment as if to make sure she really was all right. At twenty-one, he'd been with a few women, but only one had made a real impression, and despite his growing reputation for being a womanizer, he really did care about those he let close. He followed her gaze to the pack on the floor, once more feeling guilty for over-reacting. "Sorry," he said, mournfully, and leaned down to try and salvage what he could of it. He wasn't used to girls breaking into his room; it was usually only monsters that did that. "I got your message," he told her, wincing at the sound of broken glass.

It was the tone in his voice that got her to soften a bit more. Experience taught the gypsy something very important however; instead of lingering, push forward. When in doubt, follow the wheel(s). In this case it was the wheel of events. Chuckling as she watched him imagine the damage, Lilli stooped down beside him and held out her hands for the bag. "Pfff', i's no' yer faul' I've go' the manners o' a brash bi' o' wind. I would have done the same thing if the t'ables were t'urned. Ya' have a righ' t'be jumpy." She'd started out with the raspberry, but ended on a gentler note.

"An' I int'end t'deliver further on tha' message as I promised. I've no' been foresworn ye' in m'life. An' I don' int'end t'be anyt'ime soon." The smile reached her eyes this time, and turned those already unnaturally bright rings of color all the brighter. It wasn't magic though, it was just plain ole' charisma.

Stooping down beside her, Dean turned his glance toward her, arching a curious brow. "Foresworn?" he repeated, wondering what she meant by that. "You mean like promised?"

"Aye, like a promise." Still catering to that little light and smile, Lilli pulled the bag into her hands gently. The sound of the mess inside didn't make her wince however-she was already in the process of fixing what was broken. There was no grand light or display of sparkles to it, just further sorts of noise and a moment of intense concentration; very odd noise. As if all that was in pieces was clinking and scraping against themselves in haste to regain their former shape. Upon opening the bag, Dean would see it'd been just that, because his witchy friend was pulling out whole jars and little ceramic canisters.

"T'is an' insul' t'the goddess t'pledge yerself t'aid another an' then fail t't'ry an' deliver." She murmured as a small satchel of candles came out to join what she'd already begun pulling out.

He watched her curiously, somehow sensing that there was magic at work. He'd never actually seen a witch at work before, though he certainly believed in such things. She was a constant wonder, it seemed. "The goddess?" he asked, unfamiliar at this age with such concepts. He'd given up on the idea of any higher being years ago. He watched while she pulled things from the bag, wondering just what she was up to.

"Aye." She assured him again in that thick tongue of hers. Feeling the weight of his eyes, she kept working steadily. "Goddess....Creat'or an kindler o' all things. I's her ways m'family an' I follow, though only m'mother's line are t'rue pract'it'ioners an' channels fer act'ual magic." There was a plethora of things she'd been pulling out along with those jars and canisters; a few small bundles of dried herbs, a fine, polished blade no bigger than the span of her hand's heel to her fingertips, and a parcel of matches. Nodding towards the door first, then the window, Lilliana sucked in a breath and bit at the scab over her thumb. "Close the door an' open the window if ya' would." She mumbled with a wince as the tang of fresh blood hit her tongue.

She had his attention. He was a quick learner when it came to things of this nature, though he had no magical abilities to draw on. In the years to come, he'd learn a thing or two about magic. His eyes fell on the blade and he wondered what she needed that for. He watched while she reopened the wound on her thumb and he remembered what he'd felt when she'd read her letter. It had been a strange feeling, like someone had walked on his grave. He'd caught a hint of her scent and something like a whisper near his ear, the likes of which had sent a chill up his spine and then it was gone, leaving him feeling like she'd been there, though she clearly had not. He sensed this was not the time to question her about it, however, and he went to the door, shoving it closed and then to the window. "What are you going to do?" he asked as he pulled the sash open.

"M'goin' t'find yer blood, bu' I'll need a bi' o' m' own t'help power i' all. Once I'm older an' more pract'iced like m'Ma, I won' need such lil' sacrifices les' i's a big piece o' magic." Now, however, it seemed it was necessary. Sacrifice for the greater good; not a lot, just a dab will do. Standing the blade on it's shapely hilt, Lilli ran the heavy bead of blood down along it's one side very precisely. Then, pressing the reopened cut to her lips, she worked with her free hand as she rose to her feet and began to construct a little circle with the candles. There were four points jutting from the circle of candles, each one representing each greater direction by color. Yellow-gold for the sunrise in the east; Violet-red for the sunset in the west; Blue-white for the winds of the north, Green-black for the faraway wilds of the south. Salt was sprinkled between them, sealing the circle to a whole.

She didn't so much as detangle herself as ease her and her mouth back from his. The kiss wasn't broken too quickly, but lessened slowly; ending with the brush of her nose to his, the draw of her lips back and forth across his own. "Dean...I don' know if this is righ'. No' like this." The unspoken hung there in the eensy bit of space she'd created between their lips so she could murmur. I feel as thought I'm taking advantage.

His eyes were closed and he was lost to her kiss, until he felt her pull slowly away. Slowly, gently, as if she didn't really want to. He made no attempt to press her, to force himself on her, despite an over-inflated reputation. He'd never had to force himself on anyone. The girls were always there, more than ready and willing, but it was always temporary and often left him lonelier than before. His thoughts drifted back to Sam. It was always Sam who was primarily in his thoughts. He'd made a promise and he intended to keep it. "Lil, what if..." He paused a moment, almost afraid to voice his fears. "What if we keep aging" What if we don't have much time left?" He'd done the math in his head and figured he had maybe about six weeks at most, unless the spell was broken somehow.

"A-ah." That very same fear had plagued the witch several times since she'd deduced the problem their time and ages were caught up in. Paling, she remembered she'd asked him question quite close to what his soft pleading was implying now. 'Would ya' st'ill like me when I'm an old crone"' And what if she was" What if he was" The location spell she'd laid would stay, but would they' Would time" Lilliana was torn between trying to retain some sort of goodness above the impulses her body, mind, and somewhere deeper still- her heart, were clamoring for her to do.

Her voice was thicker suddenly; huskier. She knew what they could do, what they could do now, what they could do later, but she didn't know what to do. It made her feel ten all over again. "I....I don' know if. Bu'..." Unable to help herself, she dipped in to steal another short, quick, kiss from his lips. They were still warm, still slightly moist; she tasted him all over again. "Oh dear Goddess yer so swee'..." She chuckled brokenly as a set of fingers filtered along just beneath the collar of his shirt.

He sensed her indecision and that was enough for him not to press her further. He smiled down at her, fondly, with genuine affection, fingers sliding in caress against her cheek, so young, so soft. "We'll be twenty-two tomorrow." As if saying, who knows what we'll remember then, what the morning will bring. "You should probably go before we do something we might both regret." Though he really didn't think he'd ever regret it.

"There's nothin' we could do now tha' I'd regre', lover." The endearment was something she meant from the toes up and out. His hand was so warm, so quietly strong and smooth and steady. It took her much to disengage herself from the halo of his body. She could smell him, hells, she could still taste him. Something told Lilliana she'd taste him until her eyes closed. Her throat was getting thicker, and while she didn't fear what would happen if she tried to stay or lean in for one last kiss, something told the gypsy waiting would....could. "I'll go an' ge' some sleep, so ya' bett'er be ready in the mornin' when I come t'help ya' w' trackin' Sam-" She left no space for questions, but pressed on. "-an' tha's why I'm leavin' the res' o' this here." Gesturing towards the untouched canisters still left, Lilliana smiled; proud at her own cleverness.

"I'll come back in the mornin', jus' wai' fer me. Like ya' said, we'll be t'went'y t'wo t'morrow....another year older, another year st'ronger." And wiser. Her throat was getting thicker still, and was tight to the point it was straining her lungs; the expression on his face had her a breath away from reclaiming the space inside his arms she'd just vacated. Moving up onto her feet without too great an effort, but perhaps too quick a speed, Lilli didn't blush, nor did she even have the grace to look shy. She simply looked wistful; promise lingered beneath it all though, and not just the one she'd made when she pledged to help him find Sam.

"Good nigh' darlin'." And then she was gone. Heart hammering, she spun on her heel in a light wash of curls and bright, sumptuous skirts out through the creak of his door.

Once she was down at the bottom of the stairs and was sure he hadn't followed her, however, Lilli had paused to sink down onto her rear, knees tight, head tucked down low. It was just for a moment to breathe, and then she was up on her feet again, through the clamor of the bar, and out into the cool, crisp night air. She'd been quite close to something so much more magical than the feats she'd performed on the floor of Dean's room, but she'd stopped. Her conclusion to the question of why came down to the logic of her logic being too loud a voice against all the others.

Feelings complicated things.