To say Theo was exhausted was giving his state of mind too much credit. He'd been driving for nearly a day straight, and right now all he wanted was to get food in his stomach and then take the /longest/, /hottest/ shower at the first motel he could find.

Unfortunately for Theo, it was a Sunday morning, and the silence he yearned for was nowhere to be found in the local diner he'd chosen. He was too tired to try and find another place to go, so he waited patiently for a waitress to seat him at the only table available. Thankfully it was towards the back, against a window, and near an exit, so if the noise became too much Theo could make his escape.

After ordering the blackest coffee the house could offer, Theo leaned against the window and closed his eyes. He reviewed the hunt he'd just come from in his mind and the notes he'd taken afterwards. It was an easy sweep thankfully, a vampire was causing some trouble a state over and while Theo had hoped to have a day or two off, the call from Sheryl for this current job was urgent. A death that looked like a classic shifter case- and he was the only one in the area. God he hated shifters. Just thinking about trying to find it made Theo tired, but he tried not to get ahead of himself.

He needed to find a place to stay, and maybe a way to make some money while he was here. These cases could last a while if the thing was smart, and after looking up a few articles from the towns paper in the past couple months, he could see signs that this thing has been around for a little while. This was just the first time it'd become careless in a kill, and notes from the case that baffled those involved made perfect sense to Theo.

Theo crossed his arms over his chest and adjusted the lay of his blue flannel over his shoulders so it wasn't so tight. The chill of the morning would soon fade and he'd be able to take it off and leave himself in his t-shirt and worn jeans. He couldn't wait until he could just take his clothes off and shower...

“Um... excuse me sir....” Theo cracked his eyes open and smiled tiredly up at the young waitress who had shyly addressed him. Theo could immediately smell she was an omega like himself, and tried to give her a sympathetic smile. There were a lot of different smells happening in here, and he knew it could be overwhelming for someone just starting to take in scents of all kinds. Theo could remember when he started, and there were some days he had to isolate himself to prevent headaches.

“Yeah?”

“Well- I was wondering if it would be possible for one of our regulars to share your table? We just don't have room and won't have a table open any time soon....” She looked like she wanted to do nothing other than shrink in on herself.

Theo wanted to turn her down, but it might be the perfect opportunity to find out more about the town. A local sometimes had good ideas for work a drifter could pick up too.

“I know it looks like a chest full of useless junk, and perhaps to a smith like yourself it is.” the alchemist said, sliding the wooden box towards the back of the wagon.  “But I promise there is worth in it.  The powdered fireroot alone should fetch a handsome price.”

“Fireroot?  I may keep that to myself.” Paul said as he lfited the chest down from the back of the freshly repaired cart.  The alchemist was a good man in a bad spot, and Paul didn’t mind doing favors for good people.  Oh he could have demanded gold for the repair on the undercarriage, but the man didn’t have much on him and Paul had no desire to break him.  So when he suggested a barter, Paul took the deal.  He probably had a use for some of the things in the chest (fireroot made a very good burn ointment) and what he could not use he could trade.  There were plenty of passers-by and more often than not some would step in for a look or a chat.  He might be able to sell various bits and bobs to other shopkeepers in town, but he somewhat doubted that anyone residing in this little village would have need for some of the more extravagant looking items.

Shoofhiss  The broadsword Paul had just finished hammering steamed and quivered in the tongs as he quenched the length of steel in a tank of water.  One of his more popular models in the Ren Faire and cosplay areas, and easy enough to make as well.  Most buyers were more concerned with looks than balance.  Paul could do both, but it sped up the process when he didn't have to worry about the weapon being a few ounces too heavy on the tip. He’d just laid it on the workbench when the crunch of tires on gravel caught his attention.  He glanced out the window.  Black Impala coming up the driveway.  The Winchester boys, doubtless here to make a request for...specialized equipment. 

 Paul could make pretty swords and using swords, but he could also make demon slaying swords.  Or wight slaying swords.  Or just about anything required to kill...well anything, really.  He knew where to get rare materials, and how to blend them just right to turn them into magic metal.  He knew how many times to strike with the hammer and what words to speak when each blow fell.  There were few people that knew the secrets that he did, and fewer still that knew what to do with them.  He’d come by his knowledge hard won, and it had cost him dearly.  That was part of the reason he still did this-he respected the sacrifice that had been made.   That, and he had an obligation to help other Hunters however he could.  Too many got lost in the line of duty, and if he could reduce that number by making and selling them top of the line equipment, well then he certainly would.  

Drying his hands, he made his way over to the half open overhead door. He wondered faintly why the boys hadn't called ahead of time.  It was faster for them to let him know at least the basics of what they wanted so he could have it started.  Finishing touches could be added once the weapon was completed.  Come to think of it...he hadn't heard from them in a long while.  Hunting got like that sometimes though.  Chasing or running from monsters or demons or rogue angels or gods.  Transported to alternate worlds.  It was a complicated, messy business, so he figured he could cut them some slack.  And they were good guys too.  Two of the best.  Not just at their job, but in general.

There were a lot of things he didn’t like in his job, but investigating murder had to be the top of the list. Especially on a case like this where they had so few leads, and the chances of catching the killer before they struck again was so low. He needed some luck.

Too bad he was Scottish, not Irish, he thought dryly as he looked once more around the scene of the crime: a small, out of the way camp ground made of several individual cabins spread around a few main buildings. The cabin the body had been found in was still a mess. Blood stained the walls and floor, the bunks that had been there were broken, shards of wood spread across the floor. There had obviously been a struggle there, but he was still missing clues that would put the pieces together.