Jo Harvelle

        I CAN’T FIGHT. I CAN’T WALK. BUT I COULD DO SOMETHING.

Damon pursed his lips together thoughtfully, shaking his head a little as he considered her question. “Not really, so long as you keep this glass topped up,” he responded, a wide grin spreading over his lips again as he watched her moving around. Was he really looking for a little blonde distraction right now? Come on, Damon. Jeez.

He twisted back in his seat when she returned, propping his elbows on the bar top and focused on his glass for a moment. He chuckled softly at the sound of her muttering, taking a little sip of his drink before responding. “What? You don’t like the spring time?” he teased with a wicked grin, still chuckling a little before taking another sip of his drink.

    She shook her head, acknowledging his playful tone but responding truthfully, "I'm not good at being patient. I know how that sounds, but it's true. I hate spring; it's so wet and you can't go outside without being pissed on." she looked into his eyes then, noticing how although incredibly bright, they were easily shadowed by his dark brows. He really did have beautiful eyes. "I hope you're right. It's hard to explore the town if you're stuck inside all the time." She added with a short laugh,  reaching for the bottle of bourbon to refill the glass, pouring carefully.

A wide smile spread across his mouth as the blonde looked for his requested liquor only to come up short and having to make herself scarce to go and find it, a certain defiant air of sorts emanating off of her. “That’s fine; I’m in no rush,” he responded softly, his head tilting curiously as the smile remained on his face, watching her closely as she moved away.

He lifted his arms, casually resting his forearms against the edge of the bar, hands dropping down as he leant forward, still scanning around. His mind ticked over the possibilities of the things he could get away with in this place, although, he didn’t imagine there were many possibilities. This place always seemed to be full of hunters and those sorted. He was honestly surprised he’d not been called out in some way or other before now.

Annie liked days like today; days where once she found her groove it stuck, where she was busy enough with customers and cleaning down the tables and wiping them down and bustling around that she didn’t have quite a lot of time to think or rather… overthink it. This week… hell, who was she kidding, this month, and the month before it, the year before that, they had been one small (or at times not) disaster after another, one stress after the other and there were times when it was a relief to just let it all go.

And fortunately for her — and her customers — she didn’t wear out, or have to slow down to recharge like her human counter parts. Not that that made them any less good at the job, of course, it just meant that when closing time rolled about and there were tables to be washed and floors to be swept and containers to be refilled, she was more than happy to pick up any of the small slacks in between the other girls. She didn’t mind, and by the time that nearly the last of them had made their way out, she was in a far more content mood than when she had begun.

 Once she approached Annie and  heard the question, Jo's mind flew back. Sam, Dean, Bobby, Ellen and Ash. The people she loved, the people she died trying to save.  Jo knew she'd sell her soul to get them back. The way Annie looked at her just then, she felt for a moment as if they may have an understanding. Slowly she nodded, rose and grabbed two glasses. As she filled them, she decided what she would say.

Anything Niklaus didn’t know about this town wasn’t worth knowing, for he’d been here long enough to learn everything he needed to know. He could tell you exactly how to get to any street from the point you were standing in; he could tell you where the nearest coffee shop was and where the best places were to allow the culture to sink in, so, as he believed, there was nothing else worth knowing about a town. So navigating himself around town wasn’t overly too hard, in fact, he could say it was a breeze; new people to town however… it would probably take them a couple of years for it to finally sink in.

He was happily admiring the artwork that was strung upon the wall. It was as if the artist had found their inner peace, and painted it straight onto a canvas. To anyone else, it would seemingly just look like a beautiful day at the beach, but Niklaus could see it in the brush strokes, and the hidden meaning behind the picture. You could always tell how an artist was feeling by his brushtrokes. The angered artist would always use shorter, more abrupt brushstrokes, whilst those that painted with love tended to have more delicate detail and longer brush strokes.

Her mind wandered back to the Roadhouse, probably busy by this time. Burgers would be sizzling on the grill, laughter and the sweet sound of Rock and Roll filling the air. A busy, but relaxing place for Jo. A place she longed to be; now having to rely on a stranger to get her there. Honestly, she felt like a fool.

Maybe it was a hunter thing, built on pride and ego that made it difficult for Jo to ask for help. Perhaps it was just determination to be independent. Whatever the case, she was pushing it to the side now and allowing herself to be reliant on another person; an act she didn't find very pleasing. People were unreliable, and selfish. Being to trusting would get her killed. Not trusting anyone could land her in the same situation.