?They say, you gotta fight your own demons, but no one ever tells you how. ?
Fighting demons? Easy. Hunting down evil spirits? Gimme some salt and gasoline. Work things out with your girl? ????.
Dean Winchester was always good at hunting down t...
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Chatter filled the little bar as the woman navigated her way through the crowd. The black leather coat brushed just past her ankles, hair falling down in soft brown curls.
A touch of beer and whiskey added a heavy note to the already stuffy air. The warm temperature settled down on her body like a blanket, wrapping her skin in a little cocoon. A cassette, imprinted with old rock songs, hollered through the walls. It was dim, only the pale moonlight knocked on the wooden window frames, emphasizing the neon red sign outside just perfectly.
It could be seen from a distance, the neon light settled on the tree tops like a coat. 'Harvelle's roadhouse.'
Like a magnet, the woman pulled a cloud of attention toward her. Men, women. Mostly men, though. They eyed her with a look that could only be described as curiosity. Perhaps a little touch of hunger, too.
With a sigh, the brunette found herself right in front of the old bar, which seemed to be the heart of the room. It had a dark touch to it- the black wood offered a gloomy contrast to the red elements that could be found throughout the entire room.
Behind the counter was a honey blonde-haired woman, probably in her early forties, April guessed. She carried a warm smile on her face as she refiled the empty glasses with liquor for her customers. The journalist pulled one of the bar stools out before she lifted her body onto the chair.
"Can I help you, sweetie?" the woman asked, her lips curved into an over-friendly smile. She was suspicious, it was quite noticeable. Davi scanned the counter, spotting a glass of holy water and a pack of salt in the cabinet. Not to mention the gun glimmering in the woman's pocket like a porcelain doll. She was in the right place, no doubt.
"Just fetch me a beer, please. Thank you," she ordered just when she felt her own weapon, which pressed against her thigh as she moved. With her newfound confidence, Abby pulled her elbows up, bringing them to a rest on the wooden counter. The woman nodded, not before throwing the younger blonde-haired one a glance. She grabbed a beer from the fridge and opened it, her eyes not once leaving Ape's figure as if she was a potential threat.
It was unusual for a girl like her to set foot in the roadhouse. The bar was located in the middle of nowhere, not easy to be found, apart from hunters, of course. Many were seeking out a good drink after their trips, and the roadhouse offered just that. Shelter, company, and alcohol- it was their secret hotspot to share gossip and information, given Ash's back business. She, however, was like a lamb in the lion's den compared to the faces Ellen was used to seeing around here. She, in a short black dress, a pair of high heels, and that cherry lipstick. Very unusual indeed.
Ellen was confused, and yet chose to serve her nonetheless without pressing a gun to her skull. She didn't want to blow her nearly perfected cover.
Occasionally, tourists would get lost around here and came in for a drink, assuming it was just another little bar in the woods. It happened- rarer these days, but still. "You're not from around here, are you?"
