Hi, I'm Meg.

‘I spy with my little  e y e,  a vampire on my turf. What’s your business, stranger? 

Trudging wearily towards the nearest bar after arriving back in civilisation (because the demon had decided that flirting her way to free alcohol was going to be  f a r  more satisfying than having to shoplift.) Meg sat at the nearest available stool and without a word, gestured to the Old Crow Bourbon on the rack, her mouth twisted into it’s usually crooked smirk. 

Sipping thirstily at the syrupy liquid, it wasn’t until the doors to the bar opened that Meg’s focus was taken off the booze. Turning around to reassure herself that it wasn’t Crowley’s men, her gaze was met by something all the more bizarre. 

This wasn’t exactly what she needed when trying to stay inconspicuous; her words came out fast and with more concerned then she was anticipating. 

‘Hey, Kids! Do you, yes you want my three top tips for avoiding Crowley’s ass-like face permanently? 

1. Pretend to be dead.  2. Move to some desolate, uninhabited location. I’ve recently favoured Eastern Alaska and various Russian wastelands. (Or an Australian cruise if I’m in need of a laugh.) 3. Don’t fuck up. That is all.