❝You're a demon.❞
❝And you're not entirely human.❞
❴ SEASON 1 - ONGOING ❵
All her life, Iona Hardy has been intrigued by the darkness and what it will do to a person. W...
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It's been a few months – a few long months without any connection from Sam, or really Bobby. But I guess that's really my fault. I couldn't even be around Ellen or Jo after what happened. I couldn't surround myself with happiness, knowing that Sam was suffering. So for the time being, I'm classifying myself as a wanderer – tending to whatever needs to be done, whenever. My emotions have been temporarily locked away ever since Sam left, in attempt to lessen the pain of his absence – everyone's absence. But again, it's my fault.
The light chime of bells hanging above me sound off into the small diner as I push the door open. A waitress greets me, allowing me to sit at anywhere that pleases me. I choose a booth near the back, sliding in to the side that faces the front door. With a brief glance up at the smiling woman, I order only a coffee. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows furrow ever so slightly at my simple request, but she turns towards the kitchen, nonetheless. At the end of the day, it's money in her pocket.
My eyes drift indifferently out the window, watching the cars filled with normal pedestrians making their way to work. Despite the morning haze from earlier, the sun is quickly rising overhead, giving off an ample amount of heat for the autumn season. I hardly notice the generic mug that is placed before me, my mind slipping away into a numb daze.
"Coffee again?"
I practically jump in my seat, turning to face the unexpected guest in my company. Crowley sits on the adjacent bench, a smug smile plastered on his clean shaven face from startling me. I exhale sharply.
"Detrimental to your health at your rate, unless you're trying to drive yourself off the edge," he pauses for dramatic effect, "in which case, you're doing an excellent job."
I roll my eyes, shaking my head. "Not really in your nature to care, let alone any of your business." The scalding liquid passes my lips, invigorating my absent state.
"I see we've fallen into the pit of an existential crisis," he scours the establishment, pained with disgust, "and apparently yours takes the form of a garbage disposal assembly line that you call 'quality cuisine and atmosphere'."
"It's a diner."
"My point."
I roll my eyes. "Do you have a thing for following people?"
And just like that, the waitress from before hands Crowley his own cup, filled to the brim with steaming amber liquid. He gladly accepts it, not glancing at the woman as he takes a sip. She then turns to me, the darkness that washes over her face matching her onyx eyes. "It's called ensuring trust with my clients."
Every person in the restaurant, staff and customer, spins in our direction, each one of them donning the same pair of dismal orbs. Wonderful. Shaking my head, I look back to Crowley, a wide smile spread on his face.
