lovemykilt | Loft above Luke's, Tuesday morning

". . . the hell?"

Priestly, fresh from the shower, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, peered bleary-eyed into the medicine cabinet like it might do something exciting.

Which around here meant with no small amount of quiet terror.

He pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth and spit, then started carefully sifting through the rather full cabinet as though he was going to find a portal to another world -- you never knew around here -- but found nothing but the usual back wall.

And no hair dye.

None.

"I know I had at least a bottle of blue gel," he grumbled, sifting harder, then starting pulling stuff out. When that didn't turn anything up, he checked under the sink. Then behind the toilet. Then in the linen closet. He even went so far as to go out into the kitchen and check the fridge.

"Dean!" he bellowed. He had no idea if Dean was even home. "Did you throw out all my dye?!"

He as pretty sure that wasn't the case, but look, his hair was going to have to be natural colored today, and he needed someone to blame, okay?

[ooc: and thus begins Priestly's make-over. Open to anyone with a reason to show up.]

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Priestly rolled his eyes. "I've been dying my own hair since I was fifteen, dude. I know how to do this."

The bathroom might look like he'd murdered a smurf, but he wasn't going to be turning his skin blue.

"Shut up and be a smurf," Dean replied, bringing his phone up to film.

Priestly stuck his tongue out at the camera as he gathered the ingredients together.

Basically, food coloring, plain conditioner, an old t-shirt, a stainless steel bowl, and latex gloves.

What, like you DIDN'T have latex gloves just lying around?

". . . Damn, this looks like it might end up being pretty permanent."

That wasn't usually his style, you see.

Dean kept a healthy stock of rock salt, weapons, and holy water. Who was he to judge?

"What? You don't wanna be blue for the rest of your life?"

"I might want to be green tomorrow," Priestly said. "Or orange." He pursed his lips, considering. "I should test it out, first."

He looked sidelong at Dean.

Because, you know, he was totally likely to volunteer for kitchen counter hair dye experimentation.

"Don't even," Dean warned him. "I will nail you in the head with this phone."

Don't think he wouldn't. He had spares.

"You're so violent." Priestly shook his head. "Come on, you know we look aweseome in blue. And aren't you due for a midlife crisis sometime soon?"

What with being all of, like, 30, and all.

He had a muscle car and literally went to both heaven and hell. He had it covered.

"Nope. I'm teaching, that's enough of a crisis for me."

"It could help you bond with your students."

"Why would I do that?"

". . . Seriously? So you can form a rapport? Reach the troubled youth?"

"Troubled youth? Do we have a lot of that here?" He could teach them how to repress!

Priestly's one clear memory of teaching involved a dystopian alternate timeline. "Hey, I came here because I almost burned my parents' house down. Those kids aren't all private school pre-yuppies."

"Wait, you almost burned a house down?" Dean asked, latching onto the subject change like a pro. "And I'm living with you?"

"I was burning my khakis in protest," Priestly said. "And uh, hello, you're the one who carries around lighter fluid wherever he goes."

Somehow Dean could see that clearly in his mind's eye. "Yeah, but when I burn down something, I mean to."

"Yeah, I'm sure you never set anything on fire accidentally when you were fifteen."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, because that woulda gone over well."

"Stupid teenagers and fire rarely go over well." 1

"Student teenagers don't go over well at all." Remember their fun times with demonic possession? Good times, man. Good times.

"So spill. Share some stupid teen Dean stories."

No, all of his stories involved trauma or his brother. And some more trauma!

"You're not getting any of those unless I've had enough to drink."

It wasn't even noon yet!

"How much is 'enough'?"

IT WAS NOON SOMEWHERE.

"Trust me, you'll know."

"You're just trying to talk me into buying you booze," Priestly said.

Mind you, he was willing to try it. He'd heard rumors from a contact about something called a "gargleblaster" that might even manage to get Dean properly drunk. He was now pretty sure he was going to find SOME way to turn Dean's hair blue.