An Insignificant Truck Stop // Open

Skipper noticed Clover winking at other girls at the bar, she rolled her eyes, if she wanted even a shot she would at least have to talk to them. Skipper finished off her drink. She followed Torrids gaze, he was listening to the men at the other table, Skipper heard them too.
She got up from her chair and walked over to them, even though they were drunk she could still possibly get some information out of them. "Hello, I heard you mention betting on ghosts, perhaps you could insight me on what this is about? I do enjoy a good gamble." It was true Skipper did enjoy gambling, only small bits though. When asking them she did try to sound a little less intelligent, by their looks she could tell it would help.

The Mountain cocked his head, perplexed by Clover's input. "Don't know nothin' about napkin dancing, lass, m'fraid." He waived his giant paw of a hand dismissively and rose to his feet-- He actually wasn't a gargantuan height, but still occupied a lot of the presence in the room-- and offered it across his table for Clover to shake. Torrid watched it sidelong, and for some reason the ring on the guy's little finger caught his eye. "Sure am. Warren Reddings, at your service, miss." His little smile made his entire beard list to one direction. Torrid, still, was ignored. And honestly it was for the best. "Bettin' on the losing side, obviously. Who else would'a busted the chest of Zachary Taylor's great grandson?"

Torrid nodded rather tersely to Clover. "Peachy," he muttered back, and finished his drink. Yeah, irrational irritation, or the weird familiarity of the ring on Warren's finger aside, he wasn't actually about to interrupt what might be a solid lead or a potential set of allies. Or enemies.

Meanwhile, the drunken buddies of Warren's sloshed smirks up at Skipper. One pointed his thumb at her over his shoulder, as if to signal hear that? She loves a 'good gamble.' "Your drink's lookin' low. How's 'bout we get ya a refill, hunter barbie?" Clearly, he didn't buy Skipper's attempt to fit in. Torrid heard the exchange, and he attempted to make eye contact with Skipper to ask, do you need help over there?

Despite his bad mood, Clover actually got him to snort and roll his eyes back at her.  He would have joined her parry, but the Mountain went right on ahead as if he hadn't noticed the exchange. In fact, he took the widened grin on Clover's face to be increased enthusiasm for the bet (Hunter barbies were not the first guess). "Oh, hoh! You're in the American camp, are ya? Well, you can weigh all you like, but losers buy winners drinks." He narrowed his eyes contemplatively, darting between the two women and the rather aloof fellow seeming to mind himself just behind Clover. "Your friend and ya seem very int'rested in the goings-on here. You two workin' this case, too?" But he wasn't gesturing to Skipper, he meant Torrid. 

Torrid had a case of phantom limb as his human hackles raised. But he passed an amicable smile to Warren as he was addressed. Rather than approach, though, he just raised his drink in salute, and Warren seemed to think it was acceptable. "We may have to take you up on your bet," he says, perfectly even and deceptively at ease. "But I don't know if we've got the money to pay for everyone in this room if we're wrong. How many people here are actually on the case?"

Warren's face brightened, and he gestured to some of the people around him, "Five 'a us, myself included. There's Jose, Patrick, Caleb, and John over there." The men waved good-naturedly at their names. The Mountain seemed chipper enough, but Torrid had this weird feeling the way that this guy was looking at him... and Clover, too, if he's honest. He knows in this low light, his red eyes look more brown than anything, and lots of people dye their hair, so why would he be so scrutinizing? Like he couldn't help thinking this guy's planning something they don't know about. Last time he got this feeling, it was when he met Sam and Dean Winchester, and the guy in question turned out to be a Leviathan that sold him and the brothers to a zoo.

Torrid just internalized all of this and acknowledged the others politely. "Big group for hunters," he observed.

"Ah, well, we've got many chapters. Technically, we're a motorcycle club. Gotta keep up appearances."

Torrid just blinked. He leaned in to Clover and quietly muttered, "Going all Sons of Anarchy is how you 'keep up appearances'?" He's actually kind of impressed. If he didn't already decide he doesn't like this guy, Torrid would be inclined to ask about joining. He wouldn't get the chance either way, because the door opened and a familiar scent hit him hard across the face. Without even looking, he knew: Downey.

As casually but quickly as he could, he moved to Clover and gripped her upper arm, and gave a squeeze that was slightly harder than necessary. "Hey, excuse me fellas," he said, and made his way to the men's room just as Downey slunk into the main room. Torrid tried to get out of sight as quickly as possible without being suspicious, but Downey saw him right before he rounded the corner. He stared after the man for a long moment, before turning to the nearest group of people. "Do you... do you people know that guy?!" He looked terrified. And furious. Not a good combination.

From the men's room, Torrid sent a text to Clover: 

Leave.

"Americano all the way!" Odd thing for a British immigrant to say. "Highest winning bidder can get a kiss too, if they'ed like of course." Clover leaned against the table, examining each of the men. "The two of us?" She laughed, "Your forgetting to count our pimp!" There was a strong joking tone in her voice as she motioned backwards with her black, nail painted thumb at Torrid. "All jokes aside- Yeah, our little trio is working the case too." With her grey eyes, she eyed up Warren, what she was thinking could be hard to tell. "What type of bikes do you all ride?" The demon spoke in an impressed manner, not too many biker hunters.

Clover glanced back at Torrid when he squeezed her arm. "Take me on a date first before ya' start getting rough." She winked at him, but judging by his evasive behavior, she knew something was up. Her eyes narrowed upon seeing Downy, and feeling her phone go off, she checked it. Leave. Don't have to be told twice! Clover tucked phone in her back pocket and came up behind Skipper. The demon bent down, resting her chin on the blonde's shoulder and blinking her eyes innocently at the other men. She whispered in Skipper's ear, "I think someone put something in my drink... I'm gonna go." She lied about the drink, but hopefully it would get Skipper to follow.

Upon exiting the bar, she made it a point to bump into Downy. Clover was at an advantage, because Downy wouldn't be able to recognize her suit. "Sorry sir, didn't see ya there." She forced herself to look him up and down. "I do love a man in a suit..." The demon mumbled quietly, maybe she could distract him from Torrid.

Skipper's lie hadn't worked, this man had just blown everyones cover. As soon as guns were drawn Skipper was fast to act she grabbed a near by bottle and broke it, thye only weapon she had, she grabbed the nearest man, Jose, she remebered and held the glass to his neck. Clover, get behind me. No one else move or else Jose gets dropped!" While one hand held the bottle to Jose's neck the other had his hand twisted to an uncomfortable postion. Torrid! Let's go!" There was no answer, maybe he already left.
J-just let them go! Jose had shouted. Skipper didn't want to hurt him but she valued her friends more than this man.
"Clover be more careful with your possessions!"Skipper whispered.
"Look, I know you guys are upset about this whole demon thing, but honestly Clover is harmless. She only possessing people to slove crimes.So why don't we forget the creature barrier and carry on our way." Skipper was trying to reason, well not really , just stalling. As she was talking she slowly backed up to the back entrance, still gripping Jose she waited for the response of the men.

Shut up, shut up, shut up Skipper oh my god. Torrid had to cover his mouth to keep from yelling at that damn woman from inside the men's room. Wow. That is the stupidest ploy he's heard in a long time. They didn't know Clover was a demon! If they'd just left, Torrid could have escaped quietly and they might have even been able to gain their alliance later. But no. Torrid leaned back against the dingy, sharpie-strewn wall of the stall and sighed in exasperation. This dumb bitch right here. There's no reasoning with a hunter, much less a gang of them. He'd learned that from Reggie and Tim, from Sam and Dean, from the people who backed him into a corner and ended up losing their lives for it. Didn't these two get that they're the anomalies by now?

He was invisible for the time being, and if he just remained still, he wouldn't be detected and he'd just make his escape. So when the door opened and a man came through, obviously searching for him, he remained perfectly still and calm. The scent of spraypaint, however, had him worried. 

---

Warren's thick brows rose challengingly to the change of circumstance. If he was scared for Jose's life, he sure didn't show it. "That woman is a demon?" he responded calmly, the sonorous quality of his voice rattling the bass of his chest. It's not a question, now, since it's already been said. His dark brown eyes slid to where she was being held by the hair. If she's a demon, she's not behaving like one. Any demon would have scoffed and flung her assailant off with no regard for the scalp of the meatsuit. Warren seemed to be considering something, letting the tension sit in the room. He exorcises the demon(s), the blonde might be one too, and then what? Capture the male, kill him as well? What bothers him is their involvement in this case. Have they been the ones wrecking havoc on the citizens of Brownsville? 

She asked a question to Downey, and Warren's eyes went to the man, expecting an answer. Downey, who was restrained by a hunter just to keep him from fleeing, looked up anxiously. He couldn't look at Clover, but he gritted his teeth and answered, "Are you kidding me? Hurt me? Of course you did! You cost me my job. I think my boss might literally, not figuratively, kill me! You went through all my memories, stole evidence from a crime scene--"

"What did they steal?" cut in Warren.

"A painting. It doesn't matter-- I can't afford therapy for this! And will you let me go?!" He pulled off from the hunter, who wasn't actually trying to hurt him. Warren nodded to the guy to allow it. They didn't need him any further. He pointed at Skipper. "You, lady, are crazy. Insane. All of you." He backed out the front door, and hauled ass out of there. During the momentary lull, the hunter being restrained by Skipper gripped the arm that twisted his uncomfortably and pulled it into him until she was flush, and flung her lightweight body over his. Hopefully, she'd drop the bottle before causing him serious harm. And if she managed to hold onto it, he'd fight her for it.

Apparently, Warren made his decision. "Exorcise the demon and capture the redhead." The man-bear took a calm chug of his beer, wiped the foam from his beard, and rose to his feet. He lumbered near Jose and Skipper, looming over the two of them but eyes on the huntress. "You will leave us, and this case alone. Or you will join your demon friend." While Caleb began reciting the exorcism incantation, Warren dropped his voice. There was a loud sound from the men's room. "Am I completely understood?"

(never know when to reply. XD Feel like I'm cutting you off, but then three hours pass and I'm like 'oh look I'm an asshole for not replying' Here goes a reply anyway. Just barrel on with Clover if I'm interrupting something plot-driving)

Caleb is pathetic at best. He should never agreed to let him tag along with his group of rebel-rousers. But the Mountain didn't say this, only cocked his head at Clover. This demon had a silver tongue that almost worked like a human's. Appealing to pathos in the same way that any woman held captive would. Except any woman isn't an embodiment of pure evil able to twist off Caleb's head with a dexterous flick of her hand. Warren turned to the demon, his hand reaching for his breast pocket where he keeps his holy water. "Sheep in wolf's clothing," he echoed, the faintest smile on his face. She's a smart one. Picked a pretty meat suit, says all the sweet things hunters wish-oh-wish they could believe was true about demons. We really had them wrong all along, and they are still human deep, deep down. She wants them to trust her for some specific reason, and if that's what she wants, that's what Warren will do. "You're really working on this case? Honestly trying to help people?" He took a step towards Clover, holding up his hand to placate either of the hunters who could jump to his aid. He invaded her personal space, but did not lay a hand on her. 

In fact, he pulled out a chair for her, and sat down in the one next to it. "Tell me why we should trust you."

---

That loud sound was actually one of the bathroom stalls breaking. Torrid had just been standing there, listening intently to everything going on outside and waiting for the right time to run out there and snatch up Skipper. That's when Patrick, the hunter searching for him, suddenly changed tactics. Torrid received a blast of red spraypaint directly to the face. It was such a shock that he was forced into an involuntary shift and out of invisibility. His body was much too big to be forced into that little space, and his rabid struggling actually torqued the stall out of the ground. The hunter, naturally, was just as shocked, but doubly as violent. Blind and completely overwhelmed by the dizzying fumes, the great beast howled as he was shot with a salt round. He listed and stumbled to one side, bumping one of the sinks. He put all of his weight on one until it snapped off the wall, spraying water everywhere so he could try and wash out his eyes. But another shot made him stumble backwards, out the doorway, and into a devil's trap. He felt the tug on his being as soon as it was under him. 

Rubbing his eye violently, the hound snarled. The red paint all over his fur and in his fangs made him look like a truly bloodthirsty creature.

---

"Ya hubby's fine. Answer the question," Warren urged without even a glance away from Clover. If she did answer him, Warren would listen intently, his body language open and curious. His eyes cut to Caleb, Patrick, and John, warning them not to move and that he'd handle this. They didn't dare intrude, but split the duties of guarding the beast and restraining Skipper. 

Warren pursed his lips, his entire beard moving with it. He scratched it idly. "For a demon, ya' not so bad. Like'ya said, you never hurt ol' whats'is name. You's just tryna help with a hauntin'. Truth be told, it'd be might' nice to have your help. They says its best to fight fire with fire; We can be fightin' the supernatural with the supernatural." He smiled warmly at Clover. Maybe, just maybe, this one's different, eh? He leaned forward and beamed at her. "In fact, there's actually two cases I'd like your help with. Both ain't no simple thing, neither. This case of the cannonballs..."

(If you don't want her kidnapped, ignore this part.) He spoke a little quieter and leaned in a little more. "And cleaning out er'y last one'a you demon scum from tha' face'a the earth." He smiled bitterly, just to see a warded burlap hood suddenly cover Clover's face and tightened brutally. He leaned back and took a drink of his beer, watching the ensuing struggle. Demons were all the same, Warren had learned. He'd lost everything to one, and many since then, and he'll keep losing until they're all gone. Just when he thinks, well maybe everyone dies. That's not happening this time. Jose and Patrick would attempt a quick knockout of Skipper, but wouldn't kill her. Just enough for them to escape. John was trying to figure out how to get the hood onto the beast, and decided bashing it over the head with the butt of his shotgun would do the trick. The huge canine crumpled to the ground with a bodily thud. The effort of moving the thing took more than just John, and the Mountain lumbered over and hauled the hound's forepaws over his shoulders and dragged the rest out to their truck. The other men escorted Clover out with them.