(Untitled)

[extra_psychic]

There's been time enough to get her bearings. Bobby's place is, well, Bobby's place. It's a hut, for fuck's sake, but it's his. Pam has wandered around a little, one hand on the wall, and when she finally ventures away a little she uses sound and scent to guide her back. Every step away proves that dead or alive, she has balls of steel

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[wayward_dad]

John stood there, watching her for a long moment. He'd heard she was around, but this was the first time he'd actually seen her.

Seemed like this place wasn't in any mood to stop pulling people from home, people who knew about the things that went bump in the night.

"How strong you want it?" he said, stepping up beside her.

[extra_psychic]

She knows that voice. It was someone she'd never thought she'd actually hear again, and she knew better than to use her mojo just to check in. On the whole, the dead were best left dead.

Thank God Bobby had given her the run down of who was here.

"Hi, John," she says warmly, inclining her chin in his direction. "I'll take the strongest around, if you have one with me."

[wayward_dad]

"Hey there, Pamela," he returned, glad that she couldn't see his face. Oh, he'd heard that she went blind, but damn if it wasn't a little bit shocking to see her like that.

Just as quickly as his eyes widened minutely, his face set into a neutral expression once more. "I'd be a damned fool to turn down havin' a drink with a pretty lady, now wouldn't I?"

To the guy behind the bar, he signaled and said, "Tequila shots. Leave the bottle." Although the bar supply was limited, the guy didn't argue.

[extra_psychic]

"Good choice. I like Jose as much as Jim or Jack," she says with a smile as bright as anything. She listens to the glasses and the bottle hit the bar, then points in the general direction where they sit.

"I'll let you do the honors. I just waste the booze unless I'm drinking it straight from the bottle. How the hell have you been, John? I heard the twilight zone's given you a second chance." Same goes for her, but she's got liquor to help forget that fact.

[unchosen_son]

Sam wasn't sure what the occasion was, but he also didn't think he'd seen anyone wandering around wearing those kinds of glasses indoors. So maybe she had a reason to drink. "I'm pretty sure booze still doesn't make this place any better," he offered apologetically from about two seats down.

[extra_psychic]

Pam turns her head in the direction of the voice and manages a tight, sorrowful smile. Poor Sammy...she wonders if he really knows what the future has in store for him. Luckily, she's a professional and it'll take $200 cash to get her to spill the majority of what she knows.

"Sam," she says and the smile spreads. "Grumpy as ever. I don't care if it makes it better, so long as it doesn't make it worse. Come over here...Bobby said you're just a baby here."

[unchosen_son]

Yeah, Sam hated that he was now entirely too used to the whole 'everyone knows me, but I don't know them' bit. It was pissing him off as much as he was weary of it. So he just wandered over and leaned up against the bar next to her. "I'm not sure six foot four can ever constitute baby," he joked mildly.

[extra_psychic]

His voice tells her just where he's at and Pam turns enough to be able to touch him. Touching, of course, means giving his ass a sharp, short grab.

"Not sure that makes you a baby, either," she says with an impish smile. "Good to know you've always had a great ass. That might even make this place good enough to skip the drink. Now...sit down, kiddo. I want to know when the twilight zone jerked you from exactly."

[off_the_ceiling]

Jess was already approaching, in a cute short skirt and little apron today, kind of hoping that Sam was planning to show up at some point because it was pretty funny when he hung around watching her while trying to look like he was doing anything but looking at her ass. Which he always was.

"What can I get you?" she said. "You got a preference, or is 'strong' all you need?"

[extra_psychic]

"Strong is all I need, sweetheart," Pam says. "And put it in a highball if you've got one. Anymore, I have a little trouble with shot glasses. Thanks."

She sounds sweet. Kind of young, but voices aren't always a good way to judge. That bitch from Poltergeist sounded like a little girl and she was one old hag. Of course, she was an actress, not in the Business.

"I'm Pam, by the way."

[off_the_ceiling]

"Jess," she offered, slipping back behind the bar to grab the drink for her, figuring a bit of whiskey would do the trick. Okay, more than a bit. "Jess Moore," she added as she turned back to her again, sliding the drink over with just enough noise so that Pam would know exactly where it was in relation to her. "Whiskey, straight."

[extra_psychic]

There had been a time when Pam would have jokingly told the girl she was an angel. Knowing what she knew now, she wasn't going to insult the chick like that.

"Thanks, Je-" Pam stops and tilts her head. She's heard that name. "Jess Moore? Sammy's Jess?" Bobby wasn't lying when he had told her about this place and the dead. She half expected Mary to take the seat next to her.

[weary_head]

"Strong, huh?" Dean asked, reclaiming the seat next to her. It was a good day - Angua'd snuck him some pizza from the night before, and then two slices of pie. It wasn't the high of a sugar rush Dean was riding so much as the vestiges of an out and out food orgasm, and he plunked an elbow near the woman's with a grin.

"Drink strong, or strong strong, 'cause if it's a gun show you're looking for, I think I can rustle you up some tickets."

[extra_psychic]

"A gun show," she says with dry amusement and tilts her face toward him. "Dean, does a line like that ever work...without a strong drink or twelve to open the door?"

[weary_head]

"You, uh - " Dean paused. Rejection, that he'd been expecting to varying degrees, but his name?

"Huh." He pulled his elbow back, sitting in his stool like a normal human being instead. "I know you?" he asked, some of his earlier grin returning. "Or does my reputation just precede me?"

[extra_psychic]

"I know you, but Bobby says you don't know me," she explains as gently as she can.

"Twilight zone time bullshit. Don't worry about it, kid. I'm Pamela." She offers her hand, strangely close to where it ought to be if it was a typical handshake of greeting. "Pamela Barnes. And you are a giant pain in my ass. It's a good thing you've got such a pretty face."

[heartless_sob]

Castiel's sitting at a nearby table, and he freezes when he sees who's walked in. His eyes widen, fork sticking out of his mouth.

When it had happened, when she'd tried to look upon him and it burned out her eyes, he felt the tiniest thread of regret. But, like so many emotions he's only just now truly feeling, it was barely there.

Now...well, now he isn't sure what to feel.

He looks from left to right, and his legs seem to move of their own accord, straightening until he's standing, pushing his chair away from the table to leave.

[extra_psychic]

The scrape of a chair and a footstep are enough to get her to turn her head enough to catch the sound better. Safe or not, she can't help but cling to the years of ingrained caution. Which is silly, she thinks. No one here but the chickens.

"You don't have to run off," she says, her shoulders following her face. "I'm blind...it's not catching."

[heartless_sob]

"I'll leave out of respect for what I've done to your eyes," Castiel answers honestly, pausing next to his chair. It's not like he's trying to hide himself, he just doubts she'll be pleased to find him here.

[extra_psychic]

She knows that voice and it has her on her feet with her back against the bar. Clearly, Bobby forgot to mention someone in his listing of who's who in the twilight zone.

"Castiel," she says flatly. "What's the matter? Can't stand to see what you did to me?"