(no subject)
Bela walks in tonight in triumph.
After hiring a couple of expendable idiots to break into John Winchester’s storage unit, she was able to waltz in and find what she was really looking for. Winchester had quite the reputation; the spirits have told her many interesting things about him and the items locked away in those curse boxes. Her other sources have told her even more.
The loss of the rabbit’s foot was unfortunate. She can handle Psycho Luke. It’s never a pleasant task, and the $1.5 million was nothing to sneeze at. However, the Sumerian tablet Verity told her to locate is in her satchel now, hugged protectively to her side. It, and the possibility, no matter how slim, that Verity might do something, anything, for her in regards to her deal, is worth one hundred cursed rabbit’s feet.
Add to this the sincere enjoyment from meeting - and besting - the delectable Winchester boys, and you have one happy Bela. Shooting Sam Winchester in the shoulder was particularly rewarding. She knows he isn’t at fault for terrifying her and nearly breaking her wrist while that demon rode him, but it makes her feel all kinds of vindicated anyway.
She heads straight for the bar. “Good evening, darling. I’ll have a dirty martini, extra olives, and you know what? I’ll buy a round for everyone here.”
She’s got lottery scratch off ticket money to spend.
After hiring a couple of expendable idiots to break into John Winchester’s storage unit, she was able to waltz in and find what she was really looking for. Winchester had quite the reputation; the spirits have told her many interesting things about him and the items locked away in those curse boxes. Her other sources have told her even more.
The loss of the rabbit’s foot was unfortunate. She can handle Psycho Luke. It’s never a pleasant task, and the $1.5 million was nothing to sneeze at. However, the Sumerian tablet Verity told her to locate is in her satchel now, hugged protectively to her side. It, and the possibility, no matter how slim, that Verity might do something, anything, for her in regards to her deal, is worth one hundred cursed rabbit’s feet.
Add to this the sincere enjoyment from meeting - and besting - the delectable Winchester boys, and you have one happy Bela. Shooting Sam Winchester in the shoulder was particularly rewarding. She knows he isn’t at fault for terrifying her and nearly breaking her wrist while that demon rode him, but it makes her feel all kinds of vindicated anyway.
She heads straight for the bar. “Good evening, darling. I’ll have a dirty martini, extra olives, and you know what? I’ll buy a round for everyone here.”
She’s got lottery scratch off ticket money to spend.