banebu | call me out.

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( Being on the run isn't an enviable life, but it's the one she's stuck with right now. One wrong move, one show of powers in front of the wrong person and she spends weeks trying to get out of dodge, shake the tail of overzealous hunters.

Kate's travels lead her to a motel in the goddamn middle of nowhere, a few hours east of Las Vegas and nowhere near as fun. She's almost entirely sure that the sparsely populated street that's been given a name so it can pass for a town hasn't even heard of alcohol, but for the moment, she can't afford to be picky. It's been days since she's managed more than a couple of hours rest, always looking over her shoulder, never managing to settle down even while in a coach with nothing else to do.

You try to help and-

Well. Hunters always were spoken of with a slight reservation by the people she grew up with. They mean well, but-. Maybe Kate shouldn't have expected anything different. For now, this town is small and her hair's hidden under a hat she managed to find in the gas station as she finds a seat in a diner that stinks of day old grease and cheap coffee. The scrape of chairs being pushed out, the creak of the door as footsteps shuffle out get her to glance up, but it's nothing more than locals finished shovelling away fried meats and eggs.

She's done away with the bright hoodie she's been wearing since she scarpered out of her hometown and her hair's well and truly hidden under this hat. There's no way anyone's going to associate her with the pink-haired woman from before. She can relax. Order a coffee. Wait for the sun to go down and sleep for more than two hours before moving on. She'll likely never see her hometown again, nor this place, as quiet and dull as it is.

Strange to consider.

Half her coffee is gone by the time there's even the slightest noise outside of the staff talking to each other, the door creaking back open as the sun begins to hang low in the sky. Kate raises a hand over her eyes to track the woman who enters through the flood of warm light, staring just a little too long as she tries to make her out through all the brightness.

Sorry about that, stranger. She just needs to know. )

( she knows a thing or two about needing to be on the run, or just on the move when it comes to chasing down the things that go bump-and-sometimes-crash in the night; she and her brother spend more time on the road than they do in even the sorry excuses for motel rooms along the way, him behind the wheel and her looking up local news as a means to pass the time and the miles, hopefully with enough paranormal pings that they find themselves stopping for a job. and a shower. and a meal that hasn't been pre-microwaved.

( or in her case, consisting of wilted lettuce and sad, soggy croutons. )

they've been driving all night, headed toward the wind of something possibly going down in a tiny little town in california, which means passing through nevada and not making a stop in las vegas, much to dean's dismay and subsequent whining. you're no fun, sammy, he says with a huff and she just rolls her eyes and goes back to her phone, scrolling through news articles and marking some to read for later, just for the hell of it.

she thinks she's plenty fun. it's just that they happen to have a difference of opinion on what counts as fun.

there's a yawn to be fought as she pushes the door open and dean pushes past her in his haste to get to the bathroom ( been holdin' it for the last twenty miles, he offers, like she needed to know or asked in the first place ) and she barely keeps from rolling her eyes as she chooses a booth near where the woman and her hat are currently sitting, smiling pleasantly up at the server that comes over and asks if she can start her off with some coffee, or maybe one of their signature waffles?

coffee first, food later. once dean has decided whether he wants a heart attack by way of carbs or fried meats, but at least it leaves a chance for sam to peer back over at the woman and her hat, briefly meeting her gaze and looking away just as quickly.

morning, sunshine. )

( No. She doesn't recognise this one. Kate's pretty sure she'd have to try hard to forget someone that tall and that...

Well, call a spade a spade. The woman is cute and the guy she's with seems determined to be remembered, walking into a near-empty diner in the way he does. Kate's eyes flick towards Dean and back to the woman, finding themselves landing somewhere on the floor nearby her table.

Nothing interesting there, but when you're on the run, you probably don't want people talking about the weird chick who stared too long. Just saying.

But the minutes tick by and when the guy doesn't return, Kate finally offers up a conversation starter. Something to make the air in the room feel less thick than it is. )

Erm- He always take that long?

( ... It doesn't really work. But then, she's spent far too long feeling like everything's out to get her. Maybe she's just forgotten what normal feels like. And, honestly, Kate hopes she never does. That she never gets so used to this isolation and madness that it's easier than knowing others. The time spent running from people who don't understand is enough. )

( it's just commonplace, really, to keep eye contact to a bare minimum when you're trying to stay on the low-low; there have been times in the past in which she and her brother have had to keep a low profile, and it's easier said than done when you're as tall and lanky as she is, with a proclivity for standing out like a swollen thumb around someone like dean, who's just a bit on the short side and walks with a bow-legged swagger that does, indeed, beg remembering.

she might not have been expecting that icebreaker, or any other sort of anything other than constant broken eye contact. there's something — not sketchy, not dodgy or anything about the other woman, but something that speaks of a body having spent too long on the road, running from ghosts or demons or both in tandem, and for a second … sam's heart goes out to her. whatever her issues are, she hopes there's some level of closure.

what's your story?

she laughs, though, a bit of a chuckle for the question. ) Usually. I think he ends up looking at himself in the mirror. ( no, she doesn't, but here we are again with terrible small-talk. she's never been great with it, not in the slightest. )

Edited (back to the 'same icon twice in a row' conundrum) 2018-01-06 04:25 (UTC)

( Probably is. But probably most people on the low-low know what the fuck they're doing and aren't running into unfairly attractive women. Kate's just kind of winging it. And maybe going a little stir-crazy from her main interactions with people being short, clipped food orders or thank yous for ringing up her purchases.

She always thought it'd be easier for her to handle this sort of isolated life. But damn, she was wrong. The whole having no one on your side thing gets old and does so quickly. So, even that little joke is enough to soften Kate's expression a bit. Not quite a smile, but a bit more relaxed than before. Less of the nervous flitting eyes, more eye contact. )

You two from around here?

( Small talk is kind of a pain, sure. But she hasn't heard anything more than basic pleases and thank yous in days. It's almost a relief. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

call me out.

i have no idea.

we'll figure it out as we go along, like we always do

yep

damn it gmail ate this notif i'm upset

gmail can you behave