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Arlen Elrik

"I like to give them the benefit of the doubt."

0 · 991 views · located in Supernatural America

a character in “Team Free Will; The 2nd Generation”, as played by CompletelyCreative

Description

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Name:
Arlen Elrik

Nicknames:
Arlie (Close Friends)

Age:
21

Sexuality:
Hetero-Demisexual

Hunter or Creature:
Hunter

Abilities:
  • Speed
  • Nimbleness
  • Silence
  • Decent precision with any small weapon (eg. Gun, Knife, Etc.)






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Likes:
  • Modern Rock
  • Challenges
  • Travelling
  • Information
  • Adventures
Dislikes:
  • Werewolves
  • Crossroad Demons
  • Setbacks
  • Liars
  • Know-it-alls
Fears:
  • Rejection
  • Major Loss (Family Member, etc.)
  • Werewolf Confrontation
  • Hellhounds

    Skills:
    • Card Fraud
    • Robbery
    • Stalking/Following without being seen
    • Handling Guns and Such
    • Lying (Although she hates when others do it to HER)

    Deficits:
    • Endurance -- Cannot fight for prolonged periods of time
    • Precision -- She has decent accuracy, but not so much for complete positive credibility
    • Pride -- Not very much self-confidence, and can be phased by certain things


    Distinguishing Marks:
    • Red Hair
    • Lip Ring
    • Three scars running down her forearm from her elbow to her wrist -- old wound






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Personality:

Arlen Elrik is a girl with flaming ambitions and a huge determination. She's always been a 'benefit of the doubt' girl. She's humorous, sassy and doesn't accept the word 'no' without reason. She's got a clever mind, working with Credit Card Fraud and minor marauding. Arlen has a bit more than a blunt mind when it comes to arguments and persuasions, with no one wanting to get on her bad side when she knows she's right. She often gets called in to hold interrogations on jobs due to her persistence and determination to get something done. She is always trying to put a positive vibe on a situation, but when a job gets serious, her jokes get put on hold and she has complete focus. Although she can be a bit of a flirt, it takes a lot more than just a few conversations to get close to Arlen.

She is also not the strongest in the Hunter Community, and lacks in endurance with fighting and running, running out of energy or strength quicker than others. Don't let that fool you though, because when she is up in her high moods, she is spunky, loud, and sassy to everyone she meets.

History:

Arlen doesn't talk very much about her past, but with her silver bullets and two scars that look an awful lot like claw scratches, everyone can guess that it's something to do with werewolves. And they're right. When Arlen was 17, she and her family were caught up in a clan of Lycanthropes and got taken into hostage for two weeks. In the end, she came stumbling out of the building she was kept, the skin on her arm ripped, but she was the only one walking out. The werewolves had gotten the better of her older parents, and they didn't survive.

Arlen's father was a hunter before she was born. He taught her how to become a (kind of) decent shot with different sorts of guns, and he was the one who taught her how to be small and quiet whenever there was a need. It's thought that the only reason any of them lasted over a week in the Lycanthropy was because of his training and teaching. But he was too old and weary by the time his skills were needed in those weeks. He was too out of practice, having not thought about his hunting days for almost two decades, and the only one nimble enough to make it out alive was Arlen.

When she was 18, Arlen was still experiencing memories and a sort of PTSD of those days. She was jumpy and nervous at many things, and was the opposite of the spunky, funny, energetic girl she had been two years ago. She was staring off into space too often, and if anyone would interrupt her, she became snappy. She only found one way to solve this bout of sadness, when she looked at an old gun her father kept. Soon, she began hunting, and this somehow triggered something in her, and she began to seem almost happy. Whenever asked about this story, she simply smiles a quirky grin and says what she always says: "I like to give them the benefit of the doubt."

Face Claim: Karen Gillan






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So begins...

Arlen Elrik's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Heka Character Portrait: Claire Novak Character Portrait: Michael Bryant Character Portrait: Zad O'Connor Character Portrait: Booker Thompson Character Portrait: Hecate
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This was the moment that defined Supernatural as a story. Because this parable was just supposed to be a simple narrative about two little boys who had grown up in the backseat of an old muscle car being steered down an open freeway by a soldier in the front. Two boys who had learnt how to kill monsters and demons, day by day, working to avenge their mother. The tough, brawny big brother and the smart, more introverted little brother who had run away to make a life for his own. It was supposed to be a heroic tale about winning and beating what was in the dark. But if Sam and Dean Winchester knew anything, it was that everything it was supposed to be remained only as “supposed to be”.

It became story about love, loss, and desperation. A story filled with dust and grime, shrieking guitar solos and revving engines, the cocking back of pistols and the twinkling of black eyes, blood and banter and brothers whose bond ran deeper than anything. It was about how they both drew from a deep well of pain that was constant and agonizing, that it was something that felt as natural as breathing. It was about how the light in Dean’s eyes died as he grew older. It was about every time Sam had suffered needlessly, every time he had failed and every time he had gotten back up. It was about how two brothers turned the world, heaven and hell, against them and about how they loved each other enough to sacrifice humanity five times over and still managed to save it's sorry ass. It was about the way they sang in their ‘67 impala at the top of their lungs. It was about the times they cried and opened up to one another. It was about driving down that tired road at 2am, a classic rock obsession, and the feel of one another’s shoulder blades against their own, pistols out, surrounded by monsters. It was hope and family and how that could include a 'winged tax collector' in a trenchcoat, and a bearded old drunk who had put his own spin on “idiots”.

In that moment it was family that had left, and family that had been brought together again. Two brothers crashing to the ground, one defiant against the darkness in and around him and one loyal to a fault with the faith of two.


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"Dad’s on a hunting
trip, and he hasn’t been
home in a few days."



Now their time is over and done, page turned, and a new generation is supposed to lead the next chapter...but remember this, things never quite turn out quite how they are "supposed to be."

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Michael Bryant Character Portrait: Booker Thompson Character Portrait: Aislin Winchester Character Portrait: Arlen Elrik Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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A whistled tune rang out into the cold air and down a wet road, empty and long. Well, empty apart from Arlen Elrik, the one the whistling was coming from. She was trudging down a long pike in 'Somewhere,' Georgia, with no real starting point, and no real destination. All her mission was right now, was to stick her thumb out until some creep decided it was the closest he was ever going to get to a real woman that wasn't on a screen, so why not. The road, though, was quite deserted at the moment, and Arlen was taking the time to look up at the stars.

It was a full moon out.

Arlen closed her eyes and sighed.

How many of them are out tonight?

She shook her head and blinked. She didn't want to think about that right now. The screaming of her family, the growls erupting from nowhere and everywhere at once, the blood trickling down her arm and dripping onto the floor, the torture.... It was too much for Arlen to think about, even now. She took a deep breath and shook her head. The sudden light of a car brought her out of her thoughts. She stuck her thumb out instinctively, and smirked as she heard the truck slow down.

A window rolled down to reveal a creepy looking man with a crooked smile and greased back hair. His car stunk of cigarettes, but this never surprised Arlen. A gravely voice came from him.

'Hey little lady,' he leaned towards the window, 'need a ride?'

Pedophile....

Arlen put on her best-seller smile, and looked at him.

'Sure.' The man pushed the passenger door open, allowing her entrance to the truck. She flipped her red hair 'flirtatiously' as she got in the car. She knew fully well what she looked like; a drunkish-sluttish looking tramp was what she was going for in this type of situation, but little did the man know, she had an old butterfly knife in the breast pocket of her jacket, one that she carried around with her everywhere. The man smirked greasily at her.

Eugh.

'So, where to, honey?' That was the one problem of not really having a destination: you never knew where to go.

She shrugged 'dumbly.'

'I dunno... I could use a coffee...' she twirled her hair on one finger, 'but I don't have any money.' The man immediately turned the key in the ignition and revved off.

'Don't worry, sweetie,' he said, 'I've got the perfect place... It's on me.' Arlen smiled -- she was playing him like a fiddle.

-----------

The man pulled up to a diner almost as greasy looking as him, and turned to him. Arlen smiled innocently and began opening the door.

'Thank you, it means a lot--' her hand was stopped by the Creep's.

'Yeah, before I give you that money...' He slammed the door again, 'You should pay me back...'

Son of a bitch... I knew it.

Arlen didn't flinch. Not even blink. Before the creep could go even further, his hand was off her wrist and behind his arm, his face slammed on the steering wheel. He groaned.

'Yeah, about that...' Arlen said as she reached into the man's back pocket, taking his wallet and putting it in her pocket. 'I think this is thanks enough.' She kicked the truck door open, hopped out and slammed it shut, straightening her jacket pushing her hair back, and walked into the old diner.

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Claire Novak Character Portrait: Michael Bryant Character Portrait: Zad O'Connor Character Portrait: Aislin Winchester Character Portrait: Arlen Elrik Character Portrait: Ben Braeden
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Today, a normal day as any other day would be, only to him the day had only just begun. He couldn’t sleep. He had tossed and turned all night with images of his past haunting him, begging him to awake, begging him not to fall back asleep. There was nothing more horrible than not getting enough sleep. Sitting on the edge of his bed, shirtless and in nothing more than some rather revealing pajama pants, Heka could only wonder what the mortal world had in store for him this day. To be completely honest, he hadn’t a dull moment in his life since he joined the Hunters so many years ago, and now, as he sat on the edge of his beloved bed, he wondered what the other Hunters were up to. Time passes and before you know it your mortal loved ones are dying, leaving this world in hopes that the next generation will take over where they left off. It was a sad thing, a sad thing indeed, but his case was sadder in his eyes. He had to live through all of his mortal friend’s deaths. While he continued to live, old age took away those he became comfortable with over the years. Anthony Romero was the name he had taken, the name he used in this mortal realm. It was a name he had become comfortable with, a name that fit his personality and his physical appearance, yet still every once in a while, every battle he took part in, Heka was the name he heard whispered ever so slightly into his ears. Some of the higher demons he had hunted knew of him, some of the other creatures that he killed on those past missions knew of him, and how he kept his secret from the Hunters he so rightfully served was beyond him.

There were many Hunters, like him, but not like him. He was a deity, a being that was immortal, a being with great power, power so great mortals couldn’t fathom the things he was capable of. However, if the Hunters knew what he was, he was sure they’d kill him, or at least attempt to do so, and it would end badly, very badly. The life of a deity was one of mystery, yet he was sure the other deities looked down upon him for living the life he lived, of hunting those things that went bump in the night. Deservedly so, he was one of the high ranked Hunters, known by all the other Hunters. He has been a hunter long enough to rise in rank, but he never considered himself better than others, he simply considered himself a hunter and a hunter he’d be, that choice was made for him the night his mate was taken from him so violently. The thought made him yawn and look over at the clock that rested on the amber colored wooden nightstand. His bedroom adorned with fine silks from various parts of the world. His bedding made of Persian cotton, the thread count up there in number. For the price he paid for it, it served its purpose. Standing to his feet, he stretched, sleep deprived, but alive and thankful for another day, of course he had himself to thank really considering he was the only deity he prayed to. He smiled and headed into the shower, a good warm shower always washed away his aches, pains and stress.

Several moments passed as the pitter patter of water droplets hitting a hard surface filled the house with sound. Steam rolled through the top and bottom of the door leading into the bathroom. Music played on the stereo so melodically, it would probably entrance any who came near, but it was all a trick. The music that played was a voice that spoke wards that protected the house. Every morning these wards were put in place and every night they were strengthened. Much to his liking, he stepped out of the shower after turning the alabaster knobs to the off position. The water ceased its flow and he grabbed a towel, drying his naked form before finding some clothes to wear. Fashion was a must apparently for those who partook of the mortal realm. He often found himself adorned in the color black. He found it was color that went with every other color in the pantheon of colors. Today he wore a black shirt, black pants that fit just right, a black belt with a blue buckled studded with black diamonds. A black pair of sneakers finished off the outfit, and even the shoe strings laced in the sneaker were black. He looked as if he were a part of the “goth” nation the youth of this realm talked about so much, then again he did look to be only twenty four years old.

As he sprayed some “Yves Saint Laurent” on his neck, wrist and chest, he couldn’t help but think of the other Hunters. By name he remembered them individual. There was Zad, an interesting young man, one who was saved by the hunters if memory serves, and one who is unpossessable. An interesting trait for someone who claimed to be human. His whereabouts weren’t known at the very moment, but Heka had his ways of finding his “teammates”. He smiled as his mind went to another of the hunters, a young girl named Arlen Eirik. She was born into this world of Hunters, her parents succumbing to lycans. It’s a sad thing, but his memory always served him right with these sorts of things, after all he’s been around for a great many years. He often laughed at his true age, which he told no one, for even if he did, they’d never believe him, and it would only give away his true identity. Alas his mind settled on another hunter, one with an interesting story to tell he was quite sure of it. She, much like Arlen, was born into the life of a Hunter. If memory served her family was Hunters, though he could be wrong. Her name was Aislin Winchester. She was young, around eighteen years and age. Yes, he had met all of the Hunters, ALL of them in some form or another. There were other Hunters as well that he wondered about. There was Ben Braeden, Claire Novak, and of course Michael Bryant. Michael Bryant, a real man’s man if you asked him, but a hunter none the less. Ben was an odd human and Claire wasn’t much different from the other girls. So how was it that he remained in the Hunters without being caught as a deity? He made up a lie that he was “cursed” with immortality by a powerful witch he killed. He exclaimed to them that the witch loved him and when he found another she cursed him to live forever as he was, and to watch as those he loved died. A lie, all of it was lies, but it was his story, it was Anthony’s story. He exclaimed to them that the spell could never be broken, and after many tries and unsuccessful attempts, the league finally gave up.

Sighing, he stood in front of a crystal orb that floated over the oak wood kitchen table. He opened his mouth and muttered something in Arabic. Suddenly, the orb flashed with life and displayed each Hunter and their whereabouts.

“Magic,” he said with a smile, “ya gotta love it!”

He sighed as he watched what was occurring. Which of them would he visit? Which of them would he “grace” with his presence? He chuckled at the thought and watched as the orb stopped flashing and set on Zad.

“Him?” he questioned the orb, “why him?” There was no response, and he wasn’t expecting one. He often spoke to himself and to inanimate objects only to justify his reason for doing whatever it was he was going to do. “Very well, let’s hope he’s used to me popping out of nowhere by now.” Fixing his shirt and making sure he looked presentable to mortals, he vanished. Not a second later, he appeared in the vicinity of Zad. Of course most of the Hunters knew he had learned some tricks from the “witch” that “cursed” him, but he had to keep his story secure and he was sure Zad would ask him question to which he’s use the “witch” excuse once again. After all, he had to maintain his visage of Anthony Romero for as long as he could.

“Someone is hungry,” Heka’s voice filled the silence in the roadhouse that Zad occupied along with other mortals. “So tell me sir, how goes it?”



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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Michael Bryant Character Portrait: Jesse Turner Character Portrait: Booker Thompson Character Portrait: Aislin Winchester Character Portrait: Arlen Elrik Character Portrait:
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Michael had grown accustomed to the sights and smells of the eatery scene over the past few years; speckled formica, linoleum, stainless steel, moldy wood, and eau de grease. Diners could always be roughly divided into two types: The Suburban, and the Highway. The former was usually a restaurant which was open late (if not 24 hours), which catered to the old folks, or the high school kids, and, late at night, to the worst elements(Junkies, presumably). The latter, however, was what the purists idealized when they spoke of diners. They sprung up to serve the needs of travelers and truckers; two groups which may need sustenance (especially coffee) at any hour of day or night, and who could only survive the consumption of fast food for so long. This place seemed to be a cooperative mingling of the two, which was perfect for someone living the life of a vagrant like hunters did.

Sliding into the nearest availble booth that had the least amount of alizarin faux leather peeling away, Michael scooped up a menu and pretended to mull it over before a waitress came around and he predictably ordered the same breakfast he always did, an egg and bacon cheeseburger with a side of fries. Had Asher been there, he'd of lectured Michael about cholestorol.

Adjacent to his booth sat some slack jawed redneck, bits of his meal stuck in his greying beard. Michael's eyes darted down to the man's plate, covered in surup drenched bread, flakey with a thick coat of sugar. It made his stomach roll, How could anyone stand to eat that repugnant mess? he thought hypocritically, but still his apetite rumbled. That ache inside him remained steadfast everyday, gnawing at his guts, writhing experimentally. Just to remind him it was still there, just to make sure he never grew accustomed and immune to its presence. Hunger for Michael was somewhat different than it was for others in his profession...

When he and Asher were teengers, all on there own and figuring out things for the first time, it was Michael's job to make sure Asher never went hungry, his responsibility to see to it he never did without. But there were days when the young high school drop out couldn't find work on a contruction site or a pool hall to hustle in, and the food and money would slowly run out. He wasn't the credit card scam artist he is today(Which admittedly, he still kind of sucks at it, just not as badly.) so he resorted to shoplifting in order to get food, but what little he could scrounge up, he would always give to Asher, leaving the barest amount for himself. He knew what being hungry was like, hungry for days.

This was also why Michael later grew up and ate as much as he could manage in one setting because he didn’t know when his next meal might of been, and it was why he got so much pleasure in the food he ate. He was not just gluttonous, but he genuinely thought "This is the best meal ever." And meant it.

ImageHe was idly drum rolling his knuckles on the table top, swinging his feet like an over grown child as he waited for his food when his eyes caught a guy in a nearby booth with a book out, reading. Nerd. he instinctually thought but his dark hair and innocent expression reminded Michael of Asher. Plus, you know, the fact he was reading. He leaned over sideways to get a better look at the novel's title and scoffed. Figures he'd be reading some complete and utter crap. The artwork on the cover was like that of a romance novel, two men(one shirtless, both ripped and tan like body builders) toting guns, hair flowing in the wind. SUPERNATURAL. It practically exclaimed in bold. Michael lost interest, his life was supernatural enough without having to go into fantasy land to live it too.

Over to his left an arcade game flashed CONFIRMED KILL in all capital red lettering, the dark haired girl playing it firing off rounds with the plastic gun like it was second nature. He grinned lazily; to him, it was. He stood to stretch and found himself wandering over, leaning against the machine to face her like some 1950's greaser. "Nice shot, you reach the high score yet?" He asked almost sarcastically, intending to irritate and flirt with her simultaneously. It was always like that with girls, he was obnoxious yet they still found him charming...most of the time. "You know..you might do better if you put the butt of the rifle against your shoulder, rifles kick like a bitch. The butt is that end there not facing the screen." He laughed.


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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Claire Novak Character Portrait: Michael Bryant Character Portrait: Booker Thompson Character Portrait: Aislin Winchester Character Portrait: Arlen Elrik Character Portrait:
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Arlen slid her hands into her pockets casually, scanning the diner. It seemed that everyone's face was averted or covered from hers, except one's, who had half of his face seemingly invested in a glass of orange juice. Arlen walked over to his table, whistling an absent tune, and pointed to the booth across from him.

'Mind if I sit?' Before he could even answer, she had plopped down on the booth, taking a seemingly untouched glass of water ('restaurant' regulations...) and taking a sip from it. She sighed, taking off her jacket.

'Place is a bit, stuffy, eh?' She gave a cheeky grin to him.

Might as well make some conversation as long as I'm here... I thought there might be a few hunters around, there's apparently a Vamp hotspot or something like that... But whatever, not really my thing right now.

((Arlen is talking to Booker, if you guys were confused on that!))

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Michael Bryant Character Portrait: Jesse Turner Character Portrait: Booker Thompson Character Portrait: Aislin Winchester Character Portrait: Arlen Elrik Character Portrait:
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"You know what, why don't you just go to hell!!!" the woman screamed as she slammed the door in Jesse's face. The only reaction she got from him was a grin as he walked away from her small home. 'People are too easy sometimes.' he thought to himself, pleased with his work of "blending in" as a bible salesman. It was the perfect cover. Most people thought he was a Jehovah's Witness and didn't even answer the door for him and the very few that did were greeted with a fake smile and several condescending remarks about their "unholy lifestyle". This assured that in any town he was in, he would be left alone which was just how he liked it. No one paid much mind to a salesman. No one noticed how he only ever had one bible, no one cared enough to notice he only ever had a backpack and a duffelbag, and no one had so much suspicion to check his bag and see the revolver and books on the supernatural inside and notice how he was there one minute and gone in the blink of an eye.

Jesse appeared behind a small diner he had passed entering into Carlton and decided to grab some coffee, still groggy as he hadn't been sleeping very well lately. As he turned the corner the the diner's entrance, he noticed a man standing next to a truck rubbing his arm in pain. Thinking maybe it was from a long drive, Jesse didn't give it much mind and entered the diner, finding an empty booth and placing his belongings next it as he sat down.

Immediately, he noticed the electronic buzzes and screams coming from an arcade machine nearby and made a note of the teenage girl playing it before a waitress came up to him, handing him a menu and asking for his drink order. "Just a coffee for right now, thanks." he said as the woman walked away to fetch his beverage. As he waited, he couldn't help but think of how normal the town seemed. He had been hearing rumors of something big going on around the country, but if he only had this diner's atmosphere to go on he'd say everything was normal. Well, not his normal. Normal people's normal. Jesse's normal was blinking around the country, trying to make sure everything was alright while evading what goes bump in the night and the people who hunt those things as most if not all of them wanted him dead or in some sort of cage because of what he was. Because of the power he had as a spawn of a human and demon. As he figured out overtime through research, Jesse was supposed to be used as a weapon against Heaven during the Apocalypse; the Antichrist. And, with the amount of power he used to have, it didn't surprise him that much.

"Here's your coffee, sir." the waitress returned, placing the pale mug filled with steaming coffee in front of him. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked, motioning towards the menu that Jesse hadn't even looked at. His eyes scanned it quickly, deciding on some chocolate chip pancakes to answer his now growling stomach as he had forgotten to eat breakfast again, a common problem for the young Cambion. After hearing his order, she took his menu and walked off, heading straight for the kitchen. After taking a sip of coffee, he rubbed his eyes to wake himself up some more, but the beeping and chiming of the arcade machine next to him was doing that for him. He decided to pass the time with some light reading and pulled one of the books from his bag. The book he pulled out was an old paperback he found called Supernatural. He was only halfway through, but it all seemed so familiar for some reason and this thought permeated as he picked up where he left off.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Booker Thompson Character Portrait: Arlen Elrik Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Booker Thompson
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Booker had downed the rest of his orange juice when a voice sounded from beside his booth.

”Mind if I sit?”

He glanced up at the girl standing before him, eyeing her curiously. She was fairly attractive and for a moment he had to wonder if she knew him or vice versa. Had he met her somewhere? Maybe she thought he was someone else, perhaps? Before he could even respond, red head tossed herself into the booth across from him. Both his eyebrows shot upwards in amusement, a lazy half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sitting the empty glass on the table in front of him, Book watched her grab up his glass of water. “Go ahead, make yourself at home.” Booker said sarcastically, watching her shrug out of her jacket as she spoke again about the place being a “bit stuffy.”

“Assuming they have about four grills going in the back, and this place being the size of a cracker box, I think this stuffy-ness is to be expected.” Book grunted, looking the girl over once more. Not just any woman would boldly come up to him out of nowhere, not knowing him from Adam and fire up a casual conversation. His brown eyes narrowed slightly, yet a movement caught out the corner of his eye grabbed hold of his attention. Book grinned as he spotted his waitress making her way over to him with a large tray, another waitress following after her with a second. Most might have been bashful about their intake of food in certain situations; like being in front of the opposite sex or around a bunch of people, for instance. But Booker Thompson? No. He didn’t care one bit. As the waitress got to the table and started setting down plates, his stomach growled. “Thanks,” Booker muttered as the waitress went for the second tray the woman behind her held. He looked back over at the red head across from him, grinning impishly.

“Yeah, all this food is mine.” He said as the waitress reached over and poured him another glass of orange juice, answering a question the girl in front of him did not even seem to ask. Booker then snagged up his fork, after answering the waitress when she asked if he needed anything else with a “no.”

“So, what’s your name? Am I supposed to recognize you from somewhere?” he asked before shoveling a fork full of eggs into his mouth, looking back at the red head who so rudely sat herself at his booth. He didn’t mind it- not really, he liked company, but it was a little strange. Humans tended to be wary of him. Although he looked human, acted human (for the most part), there was just something about Book that threw humans off. Maybe it was the air around him, but who really knew? Whatever it was, the human who sat precisely on the other side of the table didn’t seem to pick up on it. Which was good. Taking another huge bite of eggs, Book chewed quickly, looking over at the girl as he awaited an answer.





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Character Portrait: Booker Thompson Character Portrait: Arlen Elrik Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Arlen shrugged. 'You might... But then again you might not.' She took a swig of water and looked at him. Her notoriety all seemed to matter on who everyone was... or for that matter, what everyone was. All the Hunters, it seemed, had a vague idea of what happened, but now they know her more for her hair than anything else. Werewolves, however, seemed to perk up in... eugh... Excitement at the sound of her name.

'Elrik, huh?' They would say slyly, even after a merciless beating. 'Oh yes, I remember that name. I heard they tasted reeall sweet...'

But they were never able to finish their sneers, for a silver bullet was always put right through their heads.

Arlen took another swig of water, clearing her throat -- and for that matter, her mind -- and flipping her hair out of her eyes.

'Elrik.' She looked at the full plates of food almost completely covering the table. 'Arlen Elrik... What's yours, Breakfast Boy?'

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"Nice shot, you reach the high score yet?"

Aislin jumped slightly, her chestnut eyes darting from the screen to find a tall, handsome stranger, shouldered against the arcade game watching her play. For a moment she was bewitched by his twinkling blue eyes and lopsided grin.. then like most guys Aislin found herself infatuated with, he ran straight into trouble once he opened his mouth, disenchanting her instantly. "You know..you might do better if you put the butt of the rifle against your shoulder, rifles kick like a bitch. The butt is that end there not facing the screen." He laughed at her. Aislin felt a twinge of annoyance. Was this guy serious? Did she look like an idiot? Well, maybe it wasn't that she looked stupid, she just didn't look like a gunslinger in her high school's girl volleyball jersey. Still. It was just like a man to assume a girl was lost around a rifle. She'd been shooting since she was in grade school and was a lot more adept at using a rifle than any of the boys back home.

Her character on the screen shrilled in pain, drawing her attention back to the game, the screen was blotting up with pixelated blood fast. "Shit." She exclaimed clicking the trigger of the plastic gun desperately at the swarming undead but there were too many and the shot panned out to show her character falling to its knees and being devoured by the cartoonish green zombies. GAME OVER, the screen blinked. She let out a frustrated huff and turned sharply, her long hair whipping behind her as she faced the guy still leaning against the machine with a slanted grin on his face. "You killed me!" she glowered at him.

ImageShe shifted her weight to one hip, dropping the gun down to her side,"FYI, just 'cause I'm a girl doesn't mean I don't know zilch about firearms. I can tell one end from the other on a gun. It's a little harder to tell which end I'm looking at with you."she quipped, cocking a sassy brow at him. The pretty boy probably wouldn't survive a real zombie apocalypse she thought to herself. The screen turned black and went to the scoreboard. Ash W., 201 kills. Her face split into a satisfied grin, dimpling her cheeks. It wasn't a bad score considering. "Since you know your way around a gun so well. Why don't you give it a try? See if you can beat that." She said smugly, tapping her score on the screen. She handed him the plastic rifle and stepped out of the way, standing to the side with her arms folded across her chest with a self-assured air.
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ImageMichael shrugged nonchalantly in response and accepted the rifle, clicking his tongue and winking at her before shooting the START GAME square. It wasn't really fair to take the challenge, and a better or wiser man would have intentionally missed a few hits so's not to make her feel to bad or let on he had more than some experience with firearms, (Hunting wasn't exactly a legal hobby, not his kind anyway.) but Michael didn't consider himself particularly wise or all that great so he played like his life depended on it, hoping to at least come across as impressive.

Pulling the trigger didn't really remind him of firing an actual gun though, the hollow plastic far too light weight and the zombie targets too brightly colored and pixelated to intimidate--targets only wounding your pride if you missed unlike in real life.

He hadn't given an arcade game a go since he was a little kid, actually. Last he remembered, it was a game of Whack-a-Mole when he was eleven. His movements were jerky, his hits overly hard. He didn't really pay attention to the points that gathered on the display, just added more tokens. The game paused to scroll out his winning tickets and he glared at the few mother-father-children groups. - His mom was off working, dad disappeared years ago, left to get a packet of cigarettes and never came back. He was taking his frustration out on defenseless plastic animals. He hated that other people could be happy while he was not.

Asher had then come tottling up because he really wanted one of the prizes, some dumb stuffed moose, and claimed he almost had enough tickets to get it, but was in all actuality just shy of nearly two thirds of the asking price. Michael had just smiled and handed over his hard earned bundle, realizing at least one between the pair of them should be happy.

He snapped back to the present as a jawless zombie lunged for the kill. He wondered how the fictional monster intended to consume his computer generated flesh if he had no mouth to chew or bite with, but that was inconsequential and par for the course. Michael squeezed the trigger and splattered neon pink brain matter all over gritty mildewed wall before his avatar, bullet finding it's target like they were destined lovers. Love was an act of the brain after all, not some organ holed up in your chest pumping blood to your vitals, and it almost always left you in pieces. Poetic. His tallied total kills gained him acceptance on the high score roster. 425. He flashed her his elated grin, not expecting one in return before shooting out his username for the list, MachoMan22.

He refused to holster the gun though on the machines face and instead grabbed it's matching partner and offered it to her. "So, I'll go ahead and concede I may have thrown you off your game what with my devastatingly handsome face and chiseled jaw, I'm sure that was quite the distraction. Rematch? Let's throw down." He waggled his eyebrow suggestively. "If I win, you tell me your name, if you win...I'll buy your breakfast."

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Booker arched an eyebrow as the girl spoke, moving his fork over to his pancakes, cutting a huge triangle size piece, and then taking on the giant bite. I might, yet I might not. he thought, snorting softly. He had never been one for riddles. He remembered this one guy he met a couple years ago. His name was Daniel Wyatt and he was an older werewolf. The dude always spoke in riddles and it annoyed Book to no end. He never could understand what the man truly meant by the things he said. Sometimes Booker would think he meant one thing when, in all actuality, in meant another. Cramming another hearty bite of pancakes into his mouth, he glanced around the diner.

In the corner where a couple cheaply made arcade games sat two people stood playing. A male and a female. Gazing up at the top of the game, Book noted it was called Night of the Undead. For him, he automatically thought “vampire” and that in itself made the muscles in his arms tense up just a smidge. However, noting that vampire games were rarely made, he figured it was a zombie game at best. Booker leaned out of his booth a little bit, peeking over at the screen which flashed the twos’ scores. His brown eyes widened slightly. Either they were both no-lives who sat at home daily playing video games or something else. Yet, it was Book, after all, and he didn’t think much of it, positioning himself back upright in his booth, bringing his attention back to the red head as she, finally, told her name.

”Arlen Elrik... What's yours, Breakfast Boy?”

Arlen Elrik. He pondered the name a minute, his brows furrowing in the slightest. He had to admit, it sounded familiar but only faintly. The last pack he had joined. . . Had maybe Samuel or Joseph mentioned it? Hazy thoughts lingered around his brain, dull memories that he couldn’t quite recall. Booker shrugged it off, letting a teasing grin cross his lips. “Arlen Elrik.” He stated, letting her name hang in the air briefly. Book then sat his fork down, reaching a long arm over the expansion of table and offering her a large hand. “As for the Breakfast Boy, I’m Booker Thompson. Nice to meet you.” He mused, an easy, slightly goofy smile consuming his mouth as he reached down with his free hand, grabbing up a piece of bacon. He placed it between his teeth and ripped off a large bite, all the while keeping eye contact with “Arlen.” This was a rather animalistic movement, although most might have not caught onto it. His canines, naturally, were slightly more pointed than that of a regular human, even in his “human” state of being. Not enough so to really see, unless you were looking for that sort of thing.

After the girl had shook his hand, Book tossed the rest of the piece of bacon into his mouth, snagging up his fork again with his other hand. He started working on his pancakes once more, gaze flickering to Arlen as he done so. “So, what brings you into this little town, huh? Family or something?” he asked, eyes holding honest curiosity. He was just passing through the area as it was. Actually, he had caught wind of a werewolf pack being in the town over and wanted to check it out. If anyone asked, it was the same story. He had some “family down this way.” It was hardly the case. Noting how rude he was being, stuffing his face and what-not in front of the girl, Booker nodded towards her. “You want some grub, “- he then smirked - “Or maybe your own drink?” He was trying to be “polite,” though she hardly deserved it, yet his sarcasm seeped into his voice just a little. Hey, the chick did bombard him, not the other way around.





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Arlen shook Booker's hand heartily and chuckled.

'Booker... I had a turtle named that once... Obviously the name didn't entirely fit... But you're not a turtle, from what I can tell. Nice to meet you too.' she gave a cheeky smirk and took another swig of water, watching as he took a rip out of a piece of bacon. This guy must be hungry, she thought, but then again, so was she. She watched as he chewed through the distortion of the water glass, and couldn't help noticing the extra magnified area of his mouth. His teeth were quite noticeable... well, his Canines, anyway. But she supposed it was one of those things that were real small, but once you noticed them, they stood out... Kind of like the old werewolf scars on her arm. Arlen bit down on her lip ring out of habit, looking at him through the glass. It was only teeth, right? And he was really hungry, that's all. Arlen shrugged and let it slide. A question from Booker made her put her glass back down, her mouth still holding water.

'So what brings you into this little town, huh? Family or something?'

Arlen almost laughed out loud and spilt her water, at this question. Family? Ha, as if. The last time Arlen went to visit her family, was to check to see if any of their remains could be scrapped up and burned. It was bones and guts, mostly, but of course the hearts were missing for both of them. If Arlen was going to visit her parents, it would be in the opposite direction of this place.

But, she kept a straight face and shook her head, swallowing her food.

'Nah, I don't really have what you call family...' She thought of the hunters she'd heard about... Better with a lame excuse than just saying 'I've just been hitch-hiking around the country for the past few years, killing whatever monster I find on the road, no big deal!'

'But I heard some old friends might be down here, so I might bump into them...' She paused for a moment. Arlen and the other hunters had of course had encounters, they were part of a community, one could say... a screwed up one, yeah, but a community nonetheless. But were they best friends? Did they invite her out to bars or anything? No. No hunter really did that, unless they were partners. Arlen, of course, worked alone, on the road.

Her eyes glazed over thinking of this, watching Breakfast Boy wolf down his food. He then asked, 'want some grub.... or maybe your own drink?' Arlen smirked as she recognized the sarcasm dripping in his voice like a drop of rain on tin. In response to this, she took a big gulp of water, finishing off the glass, and slid it back to him, giving a cheeky grin with it. Her lip ring reflected off the light as she replied.

'Sure, I'll take my own drink now. And as for food,' she eyed his mass meal, a twinkle in her eyes, 'I'll get my own, too... I'm not too sure I wanna go down in a fight with you over some Hashbrowns.' She gave a little laugh before picking up a small menu. 'So you've had the taste test on... pretty much everything,' she smiled and looked up at Booker, leaning her elbows on the table... well, the spot on the table that wasn't overtaken by a plate of sausages, 'so you tell me. What should I have a taste of?'

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"This ought to be good." Jesse thought to himself about the man who decided to intrude on the girl's shooting game. He even put down his book to listen to the two's verbal sparring which ended in a literal draw as the pair decided to have a contest with the plastic rifles to see who was a better shot. It was close, but the woman won out in the end and the two decided to have breakfast together. As the new acquaintances walked away, Jesse couldn't help but feel that familiar cold feeling he got when around other people, especially when they were together and he was alone, like he always was. Jesse had carved out his own little solitary existence, but just because he did it willingly didn't mean he had to be certain about it or even like it.

"Here you go." the waitress exclaimed, the loud clang of the heavy plate snapped him out of his thoughts. "Uh, thanks." he flashed a smile to try and hide his last expression. "You alright, son? I don't mean to pry, but you seem a bit out of it."It wasn't exactly prying. It was more like just reading the 'I'm a damaged loner freak' sign all over Jesse's face. At least, that's what he thought anyway. "No, I'm fine. I just got reminded of some things I don't like to think about too often." Jesse stated, a little embarrassed he let his emotions get to him. "Well alright. You need me, just holler." and with that, the woman strutted over to another table. The Half-Demon then eyed his small stack of pancakes laid out in front of him and began to dig in, remembering his previously forgotten hunger. The sweetness from the fluffy discs and the chocolate inside definitely lifted his spirits a bit as well as the awkward sight of a large man shoveling food into his mouth like he was the Cookie Monster at an Oreo factory while a fiery haired woman sat with him and watched on.

After a few minutes, a half a cup of coffee, and a fantastic pair of chocolate chip pancakes, Jesse decided it was time to head out to a more out of the way place to do a little thinking. A place he knew was out of the way of most and not as close to town, a roadhouse he passed on the way into Carlton. With that in mind, he placed a fifty dollar bill on the table to cover his food and the kind waitress' tip and with his belongings walked to the back alley of the diner and teleported off to the roadhouse in the blink of an eye. After he made sure no one saw him, he walked into the building and sat down at an empty table. He noted instantly that there wasn't that many people there and the people who were were preoccupied with each other. Exactly what he wanted. He pulled out his chair and grabbed a leather bound book from his bag, rifling through the loose pages until he found the page he was looking for. The last demon he encountered was on his way to God knows where when he ran into Jesse. Unlucky for him, this demon wasn't aware of Jesse's ability to exorcise demons and was dealt with pretty quickly. He did however find a note on the demon's meat suit that only had two words written on it; "Pagan" and "Hecate". Jesse didn't know what it meant, but a Pagan would definitely be powerful enough to do the types of things he was hearing about, he just didn't know why. And even if he found out who they were, he knew he didn't stand a chance against a god. Not alone, at least.

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”Booker... I had a turtle named that once... Obviously the name didn't entirely fit... But you're not a turtle, from what I can tell. Nice to meet you too.”

Booker almost laughed at this remark, but he didn’t, keeping his expression as straight as possible. Yet, his lips twitched slightly as he fought a smirk. “Must have been quite a kickass turtle.” He retorted, then gazed down, as if looking for some sort of mutation on his body. “As for me being a turtle,” Book went on, browns eyes flickering upward to catch her gaze as he flashed a grin, exposing his white teeth briefly. “No, I’m obviously not. I ditched the shell a long time ago.” He was trying to joke around, although he was rather terrible and just, well, lame when it came to such things. It was then that he grabbed a piece of bacon, biting into it.

There was some point as he was chewing that he noticed how the red head was looking at him through the glass. She was studying him. Booker suddenly became self-conscious, not letting it show, however, as he cleared his throat, grabbing his fork and starting eating on his pancakes again. He brought up the question of why she was around here to drag the attention away from himself, and it seemed like it worked well enough.

Book was a bit surprised at her answer. No family? For a moment he felt a small pang of- what would the word be? Pity for the small, human girl? Having no one that cared for you could be a lonely, sad existence. When she mentioned old friends he perked up again, nodding his head in the motion that resembled that of a bobble-head. “Ah, friends are good!” He said, though he really would not know. Booker himself didn’t have too many friends now-a-days. The ones he did have were either dead or had completely fallen off the rocker. As in- went crazy and Book decided to flick them out of his life.

Both of Booker’s dark eyebrows shot upwards when Arlen simply downed the rest of his water when he mentioned if she wanted some food or her own drink. He sat down his fork, lips curving into a wolfish grin as he noticed the silver of her lip ring glint in the light of the dim diner. Interesting. He never really understood the whole ordeal of bodily piercings. He just did not get it. Of course, Book was also a big baby and didn’t like the idea of unnecessary pain either. Plus, him a silver didn’t get along, to say the least. He laughed as she mentioned not wanting to go down in a fight with him over hash browns.
Book wiggled his eyebrows teasingly, chuckling again as he leaned back in the booth. “Yeah, you would most definitely lose.” He joked, reaching over and picking up a piece of sausage, popping it into his mouth as he listened to her talk about the food. He paused in mid-chew when she looked up and smiled at him, trying to force his own smile though it looked funny due to the fact he had a full mouth. He swallowed hard.

”So you tell me. What should I have a taste of?” Booker pursed his lips, placing a hand to his chin and rubbing it as if he was in deep thought.
“Hmm. .” he mumbled as he then started tapping his chin. He gazed at his own food, then looked at Arlen, shrugging his shoulders lazily. “The pancakes are my favorite so far.” He admitted and then, as if trying to emphasize the fact, picked up his fork and took another hearty bite of them; they were practically gone by now. Book always ate fast and when he was younger his grandmother used to get onto him all the time for it.

”Emmett Lee Booker Thompson! You slow down right now! You’re no animal.” She would scold from the dinner table, only to get a groan from an extremely young Booker and a chortle from his grandfather. Said grandfather would then teasingly remind her that Booker was, in fact, somewhat an animal. And you wonder where Book gets it from. Pushing his plates of food a little bit away from him, Booker leaned his elbows on the table, mimicking Arlen’s posture just to mess with her.
“So tell me, cupcake, what’s it going to be, hmm? Pretend it’s your last meal.” The werewolf laughed, eyes dancing with amusement.





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Arlen smirked as she glanced at Booker's imitation of her. Squinting her eyes playfully, she looked at him, pretending to be focused.

'My last meal, you say...' She looked down at his now clean plates, remembering what was on each of them before he licked them clean. She continued nibbling on her glinting lip ring, as she saw Booker glance at it curiously earlier. She noticed that he didn't have any piercings anywhere. No metal, no 14Ks, no silver... Arlen shrugged and continued playing with her lip. Getting a piercing didn't really hurt -- she had always wanted one when she was younger, and when she was no longer under the watch of her parents, it seemed like a good way to express herself, to tell everyone, 'I'm not that sweet red-haired girl with the pig-tails anymore.' It was, one could say, her signal that she was a hunter. Nevertheless, she kept her piercing, and she liked it very much.

Arlen leaned back in her booth and let out a breath.

'Okay, my last meal will be...' She cracked her knuckles and stretched her neck, like preparing for a fight, and called a waitress over. She cleared her throat loudly and glanced at Booker with a twinkle in her eye before saying, 'A large stack of Pancakes please... with Raspberry Sauce, a poached egg, aaand...' She paused, thinking what her final touch to her 'final meal' would be, and grinned as she thought of something. 'Do you have confederate sugar and strawberries?' Arlen asked with cheek and sincerity, and the waitress gave a look with a slow nod. Arlen smiled and gave the menu to her, letting out a breath as she walked away. She turned back to Booker and stretched.

'Well, you said it was my last meal,' she laughed. 'I didn't expect this tin can to even have strawberries and sugar... Ah, the surprises something can hold...' Arlen leaned back on the table. 'So what surprises do you have up your sleeve, Turtle?'

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“WINCHESTER!? AS IN THE WINCHESTERS, SAM AND DEAN!?” Michael exclaimed loudly and unexpectedly, nearly spewing his coffee on her. Aislin’s whole body jolted and her hands clamped the edge of the table to keep her from jumping out of her seat. Her whole face turned red now having the attention of almost every patron in the diner for a moment before the clamber of chatter and clinking of plates continued. She suppressed an annoyed groan in her chest. Clearly Michael knew her dad and uncle in some capacity and she was pretty sure she knew how. Most people didn’t know her dad for his mad bookkeeping skills or her Uncle Dean for opening his own auto body shop. There was only a slim chance anyone knew them for anything other than hunting. She immediately wanted to lie and deny any relationship to them, but she had laid her own trap by saying her dad was a hunter. Now the joke was on her.

Image “Yeah my family is “the” Winchesters. Sam’s my dad.” She replied to him with complete lack of enthusiasm. "I take it you know them.." It was strange how he had emphasized "The" Winchesters, like they were somehow important. Her dad and uncle were solid hunters with a good reputation, that's what she knew. Hunters knew them and they knew a lot of hunters. And knowing her dad, he would be putting out an Amber Alert to every hunter he knew to keep their eyes peeled for her. The hunter community was a tight knit, albeit sparsely spread out one, and any hunters she came across that were aware she had runaway would most likely turn her into her family. She slid her hands off the edge of the table onto the seat, her hand creeping towards her bag. Automatically every escape route in the diner had been found in her quick calculating mind, ready to get the Hell out of dodge if need be.

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Booker only grinned as Arlen spoke, a dark eyebrow raised in almost a challenge. This girl looked like she didn’t eat too much at all. Then again, he was being judgmental, because he himself was in good shape and he ate like a blasted horse. When the waitress came to gather her order and take a couple, out of the few, plates Book had knocked out, an easy chuckle pasted his lips. Her order didn’t exactly come across as “small diner” material. What’d she think this was? The iHop? Surprise crossed his features as the waitress nodded to her question. Hey, what do you know?

Book stretched his arms above his head, grunting when Arlen quipped that he did, indeed, say to act as if it was her last meal. “You made a good choice, Red.” He mused, letting the teasing nickname pass his lips before he thought much of it. Yeah, though her food choice was good, he was more of a blueberries guy instead of strawberries. To each their own, though.
”So what surprises do you have up your sleeve, Turtle?” The question made Booker’s eyes widen just slightly, followed by a fitful of coughing. He balled up his right hand into a fist, steadily drumming it against his solid chest as if he was trying to cough something up. The coughing subsided soon enough, an almost sheepish smile crossing his lips. Surprises up my sleeve? If you only knew the half of it. the werewolf thought, yet he kept his expression light, giving another shrug of his broad shoulders.

“I’m not much for magic tricks or anything.” Book admitted jokingly, lifting an arm and peeking into the sleeve of his leather jacket. He squinted his eyes as if he was searching for something, then looked up at Arlen with a lopsided grin. “Nope, nothing up my sleeve.” He added for good measure, stretching his legs in under the booth, accidently kicking the girl’s foot. Booker gave an apologetic look in her direction before asking, “What about you? Any surprises, Red?” The wolf held her eyes momentarily with his own. He was good at telling when someone lied. All you had to really do was look at their eyes, and, usually, the lie gave way.

However, he didn’t have much time to study her answer, because a racket at the other end of the diner caught his attention. “WINCHESTER!? AS IN THE WINCHESTERS, SAM AND DEAN!?” Booker immediately stiffened, the muscles in his arms, up through his shoulders, even down through his legs going taut. To a normal person, the names would mean practically nothing, but to Book? A supernatural like himself had heard many “ghastly” tells of the Winchesters. Still tense as he turned to glance over his shoulder, he spotted the two he previously watched standing at the zombie game sitting in a booth a couple booths down. Was the Winchesters in town? The mere thought had dread settling into the pit of his gut, and his wolfish “flight” instinct was most definitely kicking in. He wanted to flee from the diner immediately, yet he forced himself to stay planted in the booth.

Exhaling a breath of air he didn’t know he was holding in, Book turned back to the girl in front of him, letting a shaky laugh pass his lips. “Sorry, yelling has never been my thing. Makes me a bit uncomfortable.” He lied smoothly, rubbing the back of his neck out of nervous habit.





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Arlen lifted her head intently as someone in the back yelled, 'WINCHESTER!? AS IN THE WINCHESTERS, SAM AND DEAN!?' There were definitely hunters in the diner –- every hunter recognized the name of the Winchesters. Out of the corner of her eye, Arlen saw Booker's muscles tense up a great deal –- he obviously knew the name as well. Arlen glanced at him. His reaction was definitely panicked, and it looked like he wanted to take a leap out of the window and –- for lack of better words –- book it. Arlen squinted her eyes just the tiniest bit when he let out a shallow laugh, excusing himself with 'Yelling's not really been my thing.' He obviously knew the Winchester name, but it definitely wasn't a positive acknowledgement.

For the first time since sitting down, Arlen paused for a moment to contemplate whether or not she was sitting with the very type of thing she kills on a weekly basis –- a monster. Of course there were little things about Booker that she had noticed; the slightly enlarged canines, the 'no piercing' thing... But she had decided to brush them out, as everyone had different traits and preferences. And Arlen was no expert in diagnosing monsters unless it was, say, a full moon. But the biggest giveaway to a monster, it always seemed, was a negative reaction to the Winchester name. Sure, Booker could have just as well been telling the truth about yelling making him uncomfortable, but discomfort isn't always linked with fear; which was something that he definitely reeked of right now. Suddenly, Arlen was very interested in seeing his reaction to a hint that she, in fact, was the very thing that monsters feared.

She laughed it off, nodding, but she was still curious to see his reaction, and why someone screamed that name in the first place.

'I can see that. Loud noises,' she visibly shook her body in a joking manner, 'Eugh. But I think I'm going to go see who said that,' she casually slid out of the booth, 'I think I know that name. I'll be back,' she gave a little wave to Booker, and started walking closer to the guy who yelled the name, and the girl rummaging in her bag. Once she reached them -- quietly, for they didn't notice she was there -- Arlen leaned her hands on the table and smirked.

'Winchester, huh?'

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Arlen lifted her head intently as someone in the back yelled, 'WINCHESTER!? AS IN THE WINCHESTERS, SAM AND DEAN!?' There were definitely hunters in the diner –- every hunter recognized the name of the Winchesters. Out of the corner of her eye, Arlen saw Booker's muscles tense up a great deal –- he obviously knew the name as well. Arlen glanced at him. His reaction was definitely panicked, and it looked like he wanted to take a leap out of the window and –- for lack of better words –- book it. Arlen squinted her eyes just the tiniest bit when he let out a shallow laugh, excusing himself with 'Yelling's not really been my thing.' He obviously knew the Winchester name, but it definitely wasn't a positive acknowledgement.

For the first time since sitting down, Arlen paused for a moment to contemplate whether or not she was sitting with the very type of thing she kills on a weekly basis –- a monster. Of course there were little things about Booker that she had noticed; the slightly enlarged canines, the 'no piercing' thing... But she had decided to brush them out, as everyone had different traits and preferences. And Arlen was no expert in diagnosing monsters unless it was, say, a full moon. But the biggest giveaway to a monster, it always seemed, was a negative reaction to the Winchester name. Sure, Booker could have just as well been telling the truth about yelling making him uncomfortable, but discomfort isn't always linked with fear; which was something that he definitely reeked of right now. Suddenly, Arlen was very interested in seeing his reaction to a hint that she, in fact, was the very thing that monsters feared.

She laughed it off, nodding, but she was still curious to see his reaction, and why someone screamed that name in the first place.

'I can see that. Loud noises,' she visibly shook her body in a joking manner, 'Eugh. But I think I'm going to go see who said that,' she casually slid out of the booth, 'I think I know that name. I'll be back,' she gave a little wave to Booker, and started walking closer to the guy who yelled the name, and the girl rummaging in her bag. Once she reached them -- quietly, for they didn't notice she was there -- Arlen leaned her hands on the table and smirked.

'Winchester, huh?'

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Michael Bryant Character Portrait: Booker Thompson Character Portrait: Aislin Winchester Character Portrait: Arlen Elrik Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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ImageAislin’s hand was on her bag when a red-haired young woman who was sitting across the diner a moment ago appeared by their table, blocking her exit. “Winchester, huh?” she intoned, leaning onto the table and looking curiously between Michael and Aislin. Aislin blinked blankly at her in a silence of utter disbelief. Was she a hunter too? From her style of dress to the way she had somehow silently ninjaed her way beside them she guessed she was. “Um, yeah, I mean… Do I know you? Or how do you people know my family? You’re both hunters?” Aislin stumbled over her words as she tried to figure out what was going on. Her eyes flicked between Arlen and Michael suspiciously. It baffled her to run into two hunters at a diner half past the middle of nowhere, hunters who knew her family no less. It seemed too coincidental and she was getting this creepy feeling that she was being set up. "Wait, did my dad call either one of you?" It seemed hard to believe her dad had acted so fast on putting out an APB on her, that he might look for her a little longer, but his paranoia knew no bounds.