[RL WITH JO] [GONNA RAMBLE ON, SING MY SONG]

[mulletrockking]

[Far be it for Dean to turn down a decent hunt, even if he isn't...Exactly invited. In fact, he's pretty sure he was the exact opposite (Would that be uninvited, if he was sure he was never invited to begin with...? Didn't matter.), but that doesn't stop him from tapping into a few resources of his own and pinpointing a ten mile area that has

Comments

[makeitlater]

[Between the pile of dishes that morning crew hadn't bothered with, the pool of vomit that had greeted her boot the moment she'd walked in, and thirty-two-- no, wait, thirty-three, there went Timmy and his amazing Traveling Hands-- separate incidences of grab-ass, Jo had needed that fifteen minute break, and she came back feeling-- well, not refreshed; she doubted anything could manage that-- but decidedly less likely to kill something. Well, that was, until she spotted a familiar brush-topped head at the bar and had to stop herself from dropping the tray of shotglasses and highballs and beer bottles with a loud curse. Instead-- ever the great actress-- she simply blinked in surprise with a softer curse and hoped he couldn't figure out which person she was.

What was he doing here? Damn it, this was her hunt! When another hand found its way over the back of her shorts, she brought a beer bottle she'd been taking down on it, leaving the old man whining about how unfriendly she was.

Good. Because she wasn't.]

[mulletrockking]

[Dean looks up at the whining, catching sight of both the old man with the smashed hand, and the blonde that he was pretty sure did the smashing. He pauses for a moment, glancing around the bar and then back to her, before leaning up on his elbows, waving a hand.]

Hey, sweetheart? Think I could get a beer?

[And the more Dean looks at her, the more she fits the attitude from the internet (Had he really come all this way for a possible demon that started rambling about a hunt on the internet? He's losing his touch, obviously.), but he has to admit. Not bad. He can at least see why the old and impotent in this place get their kicks trying to grab and handful of ass.]

[makeitlater]

[Her eyes flash as she turns, though she manages at the last moment to school her features into something resembling a waitress' attitude.]

Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Light, Abyss Porter, a local Irish Red, and some Hefeweizen that isn't worth ordering, trust me. Which can I getcha?

[It's an attempt at 'harmless midwestern barmaid', anyway.]

[mulletrockking]

[What a selection. Really. He's seen worse, but whatever. And that sentiment probably shows as he makes a face, shaking his head slightly.]

Better make it a Bud Light. On the clock.

[Yeah, he's pretty sure this is Jo, and he's sure the meaning of such a simple and innocuous statement won't slip by her.]