Who: Eli Spooner and Azazel Where: Reno, Nevada When: TBD How: After having his soda stolen by the ghost of a drowned sailor (sort of) in Illinois, and then running over some sort of dead thing (or maybe it was a raccoon) with his truck on the outskirts of Missouri, Eli decides that, as long as he's going to be roadtripping across the country, he might as well head for sunny California and see if there are any hot actresses interested in ghost/monster-hunting services. Rating: Probably for language
Hunting was like, a thousand times harder than the Supernatural books made it seem. Sure, the books were pretty specific about how injured the Winchesters got (and it was still a total mindfuck, thinking that those books had been written about actual people), how messed up their lives were...because, seriously, selling your soul? Going to Hell? The whole Lilith thing? Crazy shit. But it glossed over a lot of stuff, like how to sew up your own wounds (Eli hadn't progressed to that stage yet, preferring to rely on people with actual medical degrees, but maybe he'd read a few articles on sewing), or how to find the cheapest gas and food, and how to get by on a limited income. There were still a few requests for web designs trickling in, and Eli worked on them as best he could (being half-asleep and popping Vicodin probably didn't help), but it was sort of hard to focus on that stuff, now.
It just seemed so...mundane. Like it didn't mean anything. Which was stupid, because even monster hunters needed money.
Getting too into this, he'd realized. Only a couple weeks into the lifestyle and he was already way too invested. There was no easy way for him to pack up and move back home, now. What he needed was a break, like Andy said. Not just a day of drinking and puking in Missouri, but an actual break. And maybe he'd run into a haunting along the way - who knew? California sounded like a good place to be. He'd always wanted to visit Hollywood.
Which was how he ended up in the Eldorado Hotel and Casino in Reno, Nevada.
Note to self, he thought, settling heavily at the bar and fumbling to a. hide his pouch of rocksalt in his pocket without being too obvious about it, and b. reach into his other pocket in order to pull out a bag of stuff that he was vaguely aware of buying from a hoodoo woman in Missouri. He pulled at the little leather thongs to open it, grimacing when he realized what was inside: bones, dirt, and some kind of dried herb. Yeah, totally not freaky at all. He was pretty sure he remembered asking for something that would offer him 'protection against evil spirits,' which was cool, but not if it involved what looked like fresh bird bones.
Jesus Christ, he failed at this job so hard.
"I'm gonna be a total dick and order a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster," Eli said wearily. "And if you don't know how to make one, find someone who can."