Who: Gretel and Sam Winchester When: During the bonfire Where: On the beach What: Conversations
Hansel always said she was the more personable one; the social twin, who did most of the talking for them both, who negotiated prices for bounties, and asked the questions when scouring for information- whatever the circumstances, she certainly didn't feel like the 'social' one right now. Without him.
She was trying, at least.
Here, on the shore of some endless ocean that her gut said wasn't real, despite the fact she could certainly drown in it, she sat in clothes that barely felt like clothes, with so many of her fellow captives nearby surrounding a large fire like newborn moths. It wasn't nearly the size of the pyres she was used to, but it gave off enough light to see the foam on the tiny waves reaching ten paces from her feet. They were bare, and buried in the sand; she preferred no shoes to the strange ones she had been given. She didn't necessarily prefer the clothes she was wearing, either- the scratchy, stiff trousers were not broken in like her leathers, and the 't-shirt' (as she'd heard it called) felt flimsy, but they both covered more skin than the other, oddly springy garments- and it was far too warm for the 'sweater'.
The waves with the chatter of many conversations in the background was a strange symphony, but something to focus on instead of the heavy weight in her gut that was her brother's absence. Soon enough, the recognizable shift of sand under approaching footsteps pulled her attention to the side... and then up.
"...I think you're shorter from this angle," she offered in greeting, along with a small half-smile.