The Roadhouse. Not very creative those Harvelle's not at all in fact. Maybe this one would go the same way as the first. But hopefully not for a while. Not if she could get a few drinks out of it beforehand. But she needed to act the part. Luckily a lifetime of grifting and lying had perfected her art, the accent was New York, maybe a hint of Jersy. Definitely not English. Just in case Sam had told Jo anything about her. The barman brought her the beer and Bela handed over the required amount. Not bad for a beer she supposed, and the place was clean and well looked after. Even if the bar staff were decidedly strange. She supposed Hunter's would hire who they wanted. People who were able to deal with the life that this bar entailed. Bela dealt with it only in so far as it gave her money.
"Thanks" she said, keeping up the act. "Nice place, and its not often I come through Lawrence, this wasn't here last time, right? Have you been in town long?" It was a simple enough stratagy. She'd play the Hunter, she knew enough names to make it plausible. A few who'd died alone where no one would find them. Hunters did that a lot. Idiots. They helped a few hundred people in their lifetime and for what. The demons would always be there. Hell was too strong, evil too prevelent. The best thing to do was life life and make a shed load of money out of it. She'd understood that from a very young age.
Friendly, thats what she was going for. And luckily Jo was doing the hostess thing. It was an easy in. She sipped at the beer masking her dislike of beer in general. She didn't understand why people drank the stuff when there were clearly better alternatives.