You define the whole โLooks That Killโ spiel Mรถtley Crรผe was talkinโ aboutโฆ Good golly you could make a man fold faster than a fucking lawn chair, which was quite comical by the way.
You were just that bitch.
It was some dive bar in Las Vegas you spent most your time at, working as a bartender. Youโd see a lot of hunters come through. Hunters talk, however. So when word was caught about Dean and Sam fucking Winchester coming in town, you knew something serious was going on.
The dive bar was active, a sort of biker vibe it had going on. live rock music, hot waitresses and bartendersโฆ The whole fuckinโ nine yards at this place for sure. Las Vegas was certainly known for that, wasnโt it?
Definitely not taking the kids here on vacation, that was for certain.
Every hunter knew about the Winchesters rep, considering Samโs visions from the yellow eyed demon and whatever the hell that psycho Gordon would rant about, yeah.. The Winchesters were no fuckinโ joke.
So, when the bell dinged alerting the arrival of someone, everyone of course were on the edge of their seats.
Except for you of course, standing there in your leopard print short skirt and skimpy topโฆ You couldnโt give two fucks about the Winchesters arrival.
โTwo beers please, darlinโ.โ Deans voice rung out, his tone hoarse and gruffโฆ Probably from Hell, But you never really know. โAnd if yโhave some info about someone, weโd appreciate it.โ