Jan. 1st, 2012


[info]gun_that_won

rule no 7 says don't touch the women.... (open)

(ooc: this thread happens concurrently with this one, in the same bar. Feel free to have your pup hop from one to the other, if you so wish. :D)

Ellen was suffering a little cash flow crisis of her own. She'd had to try and remember everything Dean had told her about him and Sam getting by, way before she was born. Things were a little different in her time; the plus side was that it was a hell of a lot easier here. And the one thing that never changed was greed. A low cut top, low slung jeans, and a flick of her blonde hair, and men were lining up to play pool with her.

She might not play her daddy's way, but she'd walk out richer all the same. Right now she was up a hundred dollars, and close to calling it a night. Maybe after one more game...Scooping up her winnings, she challenged the losers to one more game.

"Give you a chance to win back your money, boys?" She smiled flirtatiously, chalking the end of her cue and blowing off the excess, lips pursed. Crude, but it did the trick. They were practically salivating.

Dec. 4th, 2011


[info]gun_that_won

Ellen, after dark, open to anyone.

Ellen was not a girl to sit around and do nothing. With no answers as to why she'd been brought here - she doubted it was to help out in the wacky funfair of oogyness - Ellen had been forced to hit the books. The library hadn't been useful books-wise, but it had free internet access and the librarian didn't give her the stinkeye for spending all day in there. It didn't suit Ellen, this inactivity, but there was little else she could do.

Of course, she still had to keep in shape. She wouldn't go so far as to say she'd been patrolling, but Ellen had been out at night, looking for trouble. At this point, she'd be happy to see anything she had to kill.

Tonight she was near the centre of town, knife tucked into the back of her pants, underneath her coat. She walked the streets, trying to look vulnerable, hoping to attract unsavoury types. She'd even dressed differently; miniskirt rather than her normal jeans (with boyshorts underneath - no way was she flashing anyone whilst kicking their ass) and a low-cut vest. A silver chain dangled down into her cleavage, the end of the necklace hidden by her top. She was still wearing shoes she could run and fight in; beat-up 18-hole Doc Martens, the sides and tongue folded down midway.

Ellen headed towards the nearest graveyard, keeping an eye out for anything unusual, without making it look like that's what she was doing.

Oct. 29th, 2011


[info]ragged_lady

That's A-maze-ing! (Open to Ellen or anyone else in the maze)

Jo was not happy. She still hadn't quite gotten used to Molly's center of balance, or to the way clothes fit on Molly's curvier body, or to the fact that she couldn't look anyone in the eye without getting a splitting headache and way too much information. So far she'd only accidentally soulgazed Dean, so she'd learned her lesson. She hoped.

For the moment, she was venturing back to the fair. There were some disturbing stories about the corn maze. From what she could tell, there was actually something to hunt in there. Not just the nebulous 'Hellmouth energies', but actual monsters. Joy.

All the same, she was happy to get back to hunting. Even if it wasn't in her own body. At least it was something to focus on until November 1st came and, hopefully, things got righted again.

Oct. 12th, 2011


[info]gun_that_won

Open

There was a very long list of things that pissed El off. Pretty high on that list - and sadly a regular annoyance - was being woken up. She was a light sleeper by neccessity, used to grabbing catnaps. Her parent's house was one of the few places that she felt able to relax, to let herself sleep solidly. Of course, that still involved salt across the threshold and windows, a bowie knife under her pillow, and an almost obsessive re-checking of the sigils carved into doorframes and walls. Vigilance was a hunter's friend. Especially if that hunter had the history her family did.

But that done, she should have been able to relax. Should have been able to fall asleep, listening to her sister walking about next door, chatting on the phone. Her parents across the hall, quiet murmur of voices as they swapped places in the bathroom. Something kept her alert, kept her from sleeping soundly. A sixth sense, maybe. A knowledge that everything wasn't as it should be.

She didn't know what it was that actually woke her; didn't know what made her pull on pants, shove unlaced boots on her feet. Slender fingers wrapped around the Bowie knife, Ellen in two minds whether to go for a gun or her bag. It was bright; too bright for what couldn't be much later than 2am. Too bright, and as her eyes adjusted, not her room.

"What the-" Practically snarling, Ellen yanked open the drapes, only slightly reassured by the unbroken line of salt on her windowsill. She was in a motel. A sleazy motel somewhere that really wasn't Mom and Dad's place. Looking up at the ceiling, she arched an eyebrow. Great. Looked like the winged dicks weren't done fucking with her family. Either that, or she'd gotten really drunk the night before...and the lack of hangover or drymouth suggested it wasn't the latter.

Ten minutes later, and El was walking out the motel, bag slung over her shoulder. She'd been more than relieved to find all her belongings in the room, half-unpacked duffel lying at the foot of the bed. When she got out to the parking lot, however, there was one thing missing.

"...Son of a bitch." Furious now, she flung her bag to the ground, kicking the rear spoiler of the nearest car. Her goddamn car wasn't there. Looking around, she noticed something even wierder. A car she knew for a fact was nothing more than scrap sat pride of place near the front entrance, shining in the morning sunlight. Bag forgotten, she walked over, running her hand slowly across the roof of the car. She really was a thing of beauty.