Kansas City Here I Come
THIS BLOG AND THE PAGE IT WAS ON WAS HACKED AND DELETED. BUT DIANNA HAD EVERYTHING BACKED UP, SO HERE AND IN THE FOLLOWING POSTS ARE THE FIRST 100,000+ WORDS OF THE STORY OOC: Starter written by Dianna Remington and Dean Winchester. It was Saturday night, so it was incredibly busy at Wallis' Place. All six serving bots were whirring and rolling from table to table taking drink orders and then waiting by the bar for Nate to mix the drinks and place them on the trays latched to the top of the bots. Dianna smoozed among the crowd flirting with the men and commiserating with the women and always keeping the booze flowing. Her sister, Sami, was wending her way through the tables doing much the same thing as Dianna did. Three other cocktail waitresses were also frantically busy. Nate's hands flew behind the bar as he expertly tossed, dashed and poured every drink to palate perfection. Two serving bots kept pace with each waitress returning to the bar on command. Sami glanced at them occasionally, her pride in them evident in each glance. The bots were her babies, and she knew they were fabulous. The bots had been a house warming gift when the club opened from Sami to her sister and brother-in-law, Jack Wallis. The bots worked well and had been an immediate hit drawing customers from all over the city and towns around. There were frequently hunters from Lawrence, Ks and even some from Topeka who came here regularly to recuperate and have some fun before the next hunt. Dianna had heard that Topeka was infested even worse than KC. She had been on a few hunts in the smaller city and was forced to agree. A quarrel broke out at a nearby table. Hunters were passionate people, and they played as hard as they worked. Their violent occupation guaranteed that many of the quarrels between hunters became physical. Because of this Dianna had a strict no fists policy. They did not have to give up their weapons until and unless they drew them. At that point they were given two choices: Give up the weapon or leave. Dianna, Sami and Nate were all fully capable of enforcing that rule, and none of them hesitated to do so when necessary. Dianna was the closest one to this quarrel so it would be up to her to intervene. This was a spat betwen husband and wife. The husband, Nick, had a nasty temper and Dianna didn't much like the man. He slapped his wife's face hard and Dianna moved. She closed the distance between herself and the hot headed hunter in under a second. A quick flick of her wrist and his ear was firmly ensconced between her fingers. "Ow! Dammit, Dianna let go!" Nick whined. "What's the matter, Nick? Can't take a little of your own crap?" Dianna twisted and Nick went to his knees on the floor. Every eye in the place was now glued to him. Nate was grinning and slowly shaking his head. Sami leaned against the bar. She too was grinning. The expression on Dianna's face was deadly serious. Dianna glanced up at Nick's wife. "Rita, why do you put up with this motard? No man's dick is that special!" She twisted harder and Nick groaned. Dianna returned her attention to the immobile man at her feet. "You know better than to start shit here, Nick." Dianna lowered her face to within inches of his. "So here are your choices, Asshole. I can let go of you, and you can leave quietly OR I can beat you unconscious, and don't think the little black dress and heels will inhibit me." A hunter at a neighboring table snorted and laughed. He had turned in his chair to watch the unfolding mini-drama and was very amused by Nick's self- inflicted dilemma. "I'm betting on the red head." He told his companion who was sporting a lop sided grin as he too watched Nick's discomfort. The two weren't regulars at Wallis' Place but Dianna recognized them both. They had shown up at her clinic a week earlier and she had stitched them both up. She didn't ask what had clawed them. She never asked. She recognized the wounds she treated anyway and usually didn't need to ask. Both men smiled at her, and it was all she could do not to grin back. She wondered if they were back to get their stitches removed. Some hunters routinely pulled their own stitches rather than take the time to come back for that. She was inordinately glad to see them though. The taller of the two had caught her sister, Sami's, attention while the other (who was his older brother it turned out) had the kind of handsome face that made Dianna breathless in a way that she hadn't been since Jack's death. Nick was furious but helpless. "Fine, I'm outta here. Just let me go and I'll leave." Dianna twisted just a bit more to make her point before letting go. He rose to his feet rubbing his sore ear. He started to raise a fist and several hunters came to their feet including the two new ones. Nate dropped his rag on the bar, and Sami came erect her arms unfolding. Nick thought better of it and dropped his hands to his side. "You coming or not, Rita?" He demanded. Rita sighed and threw her hands up in resignation. She stood, grabbed one of her husband's arms and hauled him to the exit. Several of the hunters applauded as the couple left. Two or three hooted at the humiliated hunter. Dianna looked at the hunters who were still on their feet. "Next round is on the house for every hunter on his or her feet!" She shouted. The standing hunters cheered. Everyone else applauded good naturedly, and Nate took note of all of the ones on their feet and started setting up their drinks. Dianna's occasional spontaneous generosity made her customers very loyal, and it quickly and easily changed the atmosphere from charged and angry to celebratory again. The noise returned to it's normal loud thrumming as the serving bots delivered the free booze to the happy recipients. Dianna winked and smiled at the handsome hunter who would have wagered on her. "You would have won your bet." "I always win my bets." He smiled and returned her wink. Sami approached the table with a tray. She wasn't letting the bots wait on this table. She deposited a pitcher of beer, two frosted mugs and two shots of aged scotch whiskey before the men. Sami smiled her brightest smile at the tall gorgeous one. Dianna walked back to the bar and signaled Nate. He poured a shot of Crown Royal whiskey and slid the glass to her, then he turned and snagged a folder setting beside the silent police scanner. Dianna drank the shot and opened the folder to stare once again at the newspaper clippings inside. Several hunters had volunteered to take this case, but Dianna wasn't giving this job away. This monster's victims were all children. She wasn't going to count on anyone else to kill it. She had never encountered a monster like this before. Neither had any other hunter that had read this case. She had a theory, but it seemed too crazy put a voice to so she kept it to herself for now. It even seemed crazy to her, but it was the only thing that fit the pattern, the lore. "A case?" The rich baritone washed over her unexpectedly and Dianna jumped and closed the folder. His bright green eyes stared steadily into her own as he awaited her response. "Yes, it's a case." He reached around her for the folder. "Do you mind if I look?" She wondered what conclusions he would draw from the articles. "Suit yourself." she raised her hands from the folder and he picked it up and flipped it open. He frowned as he read the first article. He had walked over with his beer mug in his hand. Now he set the mug on the bar and perched on one of the stools to read the second article. Dianna told Nate to bring her the CR bottle and another shot glass. She filled both shot glasses and pushed one to the handsome hunter. There was one more article. He read it but looked puzzled as he closed the folder and handed it back to her. "So what do you think?" she asked. He drank the whiskey, and Dianna refilled their glasses. "Children disappear and their bleached skeletons are showing up only a few days after each kid disappears." Dean tossed off the next shot and shuddered. "First of all there is only one way to bleach bones that cleanly. You have to boil them." "I know that. I'm a doctor. The question is: What is doing this and why?" "No. The question is: What is doing this, and how can we kill it?" Dianna gazed into his eyes silently. He returned her stare unflinchingly, and she finally spoke. "I have a theory, and I will need a team, but this is my hunt. We do it my way. If you have a problem with that, then you're not invited." Dean held his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. It's your hunt, but there is no way I'm not hunting a monster that targets children. So what's your theory?" "What did you say your name was? I'm Dianna." Dianna stuck out her right hand. "Dean." He lingered a bit when he shook her hand. "So what's your theory?" "It's going to sound bat guano crazy." "Yeah, well every theory in this line of work sounds bat guano crazy. So you might as well just spit it out." Dianna poured them each another shot and downed hers. "Goblins." "Excuse me. Did you say Goblins?" Dean's hand froze with the amber liquid half way to his mouth. He furrowed his brow and looked at her. "Goblins?" "I told you it would sound crazy." The shot glass finished it's journey to Dean's lips and he gulped it down. "Mind telling me why you think it's Goblins?" "Because the bones are found so clean. The authorities are looking for a human serial killer, but they don't know what they are actually looking at, let alone what they're looking for." Dianna poured them each another shot and continued her explanation. "Goblins live in underground nests, and every couple of centuries they come out of their hibernation to feed and to procreate. They stay above ground for a few weeks to a few months depending on the size of the nest. If we don't find them and kill them before they go back into hibernation then the nest just grows bigger so that the next time around......" Dianna's voice trailed away. "So why do they target children, and what are they doing with them exactly?" "Goblins are small. So are children. They are easier to hunt. Goblins must eat human flesh to survive, and the lore says they like it boiled." Dean groaned out loud. It figured that there would be a nest of monsters who liked to eat children. He almost regurgitated the scotch. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and rubbed his forehead. "So just how big do you think this nest is?" "I don't know." "Ok then. How do we track them?" "I don't know." "But you do know how we kill them right?" "I don't know that either." Dean snorted and shook his head."Well you seem to have gotten off to a great start with 'your' hunt. What DO you know?" "I know that they CAN be killed, and I know that we have to kill all of them. If even one survives it can build a new colony." "How can just one survivor rebuild a colony?" "Apparently they're asexual." "I don't even want to know how you know that when you don't even know how to kill the things." Dean shuddered again. "I might know someone who can tell us how to track them and kill them." Dean dug his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. "Bobby! What do you know about goblins?" Sarah Four years ago Sarah Walker was a typical college student. She knew nothing about the supernatural world blissfully in the dark. All this was altered by the death of her twin sister Sidney. It changed her. Loss has a way of doing that she supposed. It was this event that introduced her to paranormal and led her into the lonely life of a hunter. Sidney was not only her best friend but her roommate at the University of Tennessee. They did everything together until that fateful day. She came home to find her sister's body lying on the floor of their dorm room. The police ruled it a suicide. They didn't even investigate the matter. There apparently was no evidence of foul play. Sarah couldn't let go. She needed answers. She needed to know the truth. The truth was far worse than anything she ever could have imaged. This was her first case, but it was the only one she never solved. She couldn't return to a normal life after the things she learned. She needed to help people keep this from happening to them. There was a need burning deep within her to catch the thing that had taken her sister. Every hunter has a story. This was hers. It was one she didn't talk about. It was a painful wound that never healed. It was in the past where it should stay. For now she needed a break from life on the road. This is what brought her to Wallis's Place. It was a bar for hunters. It would allow her to stay in the loop. It would allow her to feel needed and maybe for once have a bit of real human interaction with people that understood the life. She stood in the door way looking around the club with her back pack slung over her shoulder dressed in a pair of old jeans and black halter top. There was no need for fancy attire. These were all hunters here. Everyone prepared to throw down at a moment's notice. The place was exactly what she expected except for the serving bots. This was a new one on her. A smile crept across her face as she saw a red head breaking up a fight. The woman had brought the man to his knees pinning his arm behind his back. She took in a deep breath and made her way over to the bar. A handsome man behind the counter was wiping out a couple of glasses. "I'm looking for Dianna Remington," she sat her bag down against the bar. It didn't occur she had already seen the woman. Sam Winchester The blond waitress had caught Sam Winchester's eye. He'd grinned somewhat shyly at her when she seemed to return his glance. But it was Dean - not Sammy - who attracted the women like blow flies to a pile of shit. Dean was at the bar right now with a redhead that Sam was pretty sure owned or managed Wallis' Place. She was a doctor, too - ran the clinic for hunters. She'd stitched both of the Winchester brothers up just the other day after they'd had a close encounter of the demony kind back in Lawrence. The stitches in Sam's back itched in a place he couldn't reach. But that was the story of his life - itches he couldn't scratch. Sam downed the shot of Scotch and relished the burn down his throat. The redhead had said the next round was on the house. Sammy kind of hoped the blonde would be the one to take his order, but as fate would have it, it was one of those creepy robot servers that came rolling up to him, blinking its R2D2 eyes at him. They were kinda cute, but Sam didn't like them. Not at all. Machines were supposed to be things like cars, cash registers, and guns. They whir to life when you turn a key, punch a few buttons, or pull a trigger. They do their jobs mindlessly when called upon, and then go back to being just things until they're needed again. But these robots were like little beasties. They seemed to think all on their own. Sammy had seen way too many movies and read way too many science fiction novels where the machines become sentient - smarter than the people and then decide they no longer want to be slaves. Those stories always end badly for the humans. Sam patted the little robot on the head and, without ordering, got up with his Miller Genuine Draft in hand and walked to the juke box, which was a nice, silent machine, obliviously waiting for some human to slip a quarter or three into its maw and punch some buttons, which Sammy intended to do. The juke box didn't roll along on the floor or blink its mechanical eyes at you, which was as it should be. With one hand on the edge of the glass top of the machine, Sam read the available song titles. A grin appeared on his face as he went down the list - this was pure, unadulterated hunter music -nothing newer than about 1995. Rollings Stones, Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band, Springsteen, Lynard Skynard, Boston, and the Doobie Brothers, among others. Sam Winchester slipped three quarters into the coin slot and punched the letter/numeral codes for Bob Seger's Mainstreet, Lynard Synard's Sweet Home Alabama, a song by Neil Young entitled The Needle and the Damage Done, and a couple of songs by Foreigner. Sam pressed the start button and the the first song was cued up. It was electronic though, none of this big collection of 45s inside the machine, with the mechanical hand that reached out, grabbed the vinyl record and placed it on a turntable. Sam was old-fashioned in a lot of ways, but he didn't yearn for the dark ages of technology. And he did like his computer and his cell phone. Sam turned around and leaned into the jukebox as Seger started in on his lyrical lament: "I remember standing on the corner at midnight Trying to get my courage up There was this long lovely dancer in a little club downtown I loved to watch her do her stuff Through the long lonely nights she filled my sleep Her body softly swaying to that smoky beat Down on mainstreet." Sammy sipped on his beer as he gazed around the bar. He liked this place. Rachel Winchester '... We're halfway there. Oh, living on a prayer! Take my hand, we'll make it, I swear. Oh, living on a prayer!' Rachel Mary Winchester's all-time favourite Bon Jovi classic blared through the speakers of the little banged-up car, that she had borrowed with no intention of returning, as she tore down the dark, empty road. Her hands, that bore many ugly pink scars, tapped the drum beat against the steering wheel as the blonde sang the lyrics at the top of her voice. She could never sing in tune, nor could she hold a note; not that she cared. There was nobody else in her car to tell her to shut up, or make any sarcastic comments that mentioned the words 'broken violin' or 'strangled cat'. There had once been a time, not too long ago, where the blonde Winchester sibling had been sat in the backseat of the infamous Impala, playing the air-drums as both she and her eldest brother, Dean Winchester, had sung along to that very song. It had become 'their' song, which was too bad for Sam and his chill-out Country and Classics. Thoughts of her two brothers brought a small tear to Rachel's bright blue eyes. They had become seperated a couple of days previously; which was a very rare thing to happen to the small Winchester family. Rachel had racked her brain every night trying to figure out exactly how that had happened. There had been a small, but victorious, hunt, quite a few shots of Whiskey and Tequila at a bar .. And the rest of the night was long forgotten. A blur, if you will. The memories of the following morning, however, would remain lodged within Rachel's brain for the rest of her life, or until she perfected an effective way to scrub her brain with a metal scouring pad without killing herself. He was unshaven, dirty and stank of sweat, bio and vomit. His snore seemed to rattle the single-paned window of his tiny, dark and miserable room. The sheets on his bed felt, and smelt, like they hadn't been washed in months. Regret and embarassment kicked in before her hangover. A quick glance under the sheet revealed the one thing that Rachel had been dreading; two very naked bodies. What on Earth had possessed her to go home with such a slob? What the Hell had been in those shots? She had hoped to God that both of her older brother's had been way to drunk, or occupied, to notice the state of her one-night-stand. She would never hear the end of it. If that morning hadn't been bad enough, as she had tried to quietly leave the apartment, Rachel had bumped into her one-night-stand's mother! The Walk Of Shame back to the motel had been mortifying. How much had she drunk the night before? 'Never leave the group.' It had been an unwritten, and unspoken, rule between her, Sam and Dean for whenever they celebrated a victorious hunt with a few shots. Had she actually told them where she was going? For the entire twenty-minute walk, the blonde Winchester's pale face had been uncharacteristically red. Had either of her brother's tried to contact her, at all? The second Rachel had pulled her cell out of her jacket pocket, she had regretted her actions. Almost twenty missed phone calls, and four voice-mail messages from Dean! "Nice catch, sis! I've seen better looking demons!" "Rach, Rach, Rach! This has gotta be a joke, right? I mean, look at him!" "Did you seriously go back to his place with him?! Bet you twenty bucks that the dude still lives with his mom!" Hearing her eldest brother's drunken slurring had brought a chuckle out of her. Dean always made a prat of himself whenever he drank Tequila. He could never have just the one, either. "I owe you twenty bucks." Rachel had muttered to herself, as she began to listen to the last of the voice-mails.. "Rachel, its Dean. I got you a cell for a reason. Me and Sammy are out of town for a while. The motel has been booked for another night. Make your way to a Hunter's bar called Wallis' Place in Missouri, Kansas. Call me when you get this." Family meant almost the entire world to Rachel Winchester; most probably around 97% of her world - chocolate made up the last 3%. There had once been a time where she would have done anything for her disfunctional family. She would have killed for her absent father, died for her two brothers, even dealt with a Cross-Road demon to bring her mother from her grave. How could they just leave and abandon her? Dean had not mentioned that they would be returning anytime soon to pick her up either. How did he honestly expect her to travel to Kansas without transport? As much as she loved, adored and worshipped her brothers, they could be a total pain in the ass. Okay, so the beaten-up banger she was driving was technically stolen. Rachel's criminal record was almost as long as her arm. Another conviction wasn't going to do much more damage. It was most probably abandoned anyway, judging by the state of it. Nobody had bothered to tend to her 'new' car for a long while. The interior fabric was ripped and growing mould, the brakes were a little loose and the handbrake was on its last legs. The little annoying, nagging voice at the back of her mind, known as Comman Sense, kept telling the blonde Winchester that it was probably a bad idea to drive so fast. However, Rachel had learnt from a young age that Comman Sense could be drowned out by blasting Bon Jovi through the car speakers at full volume.. 'We gotta hold on to what we've got It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not We got each other and that's a lot For love we'll give it a shot!' 888888888 Rachel really should have listened to that little annoying voice known as Common Sense. A thick cloud of grey smoke rose from the bonnet of the beaten-up car and the engine was chugging loudly as she pulled into the Wallis' Place parking lot. She had even blown the speakers a good five-miles back. At least she gave it's final legs a last good run. Her bright blue eyes were immediately drawn to Dean's black Impala, parked so awkwardly that it took over two parking spots. The temptation to drag a blade across the paintwork on the driver's side door was there; payback for leaving her behind. However, Rachel thought better of it. Dean would destroy her. A slight commotion grabbed a hold of the blonde Winchester's attention. Her eyes scanned the dark parking lot, until her gaze landed on a middle-aged couple, the woman looking highly embarrassed and the man looking slightly intoxicated. He stumbled over his feet as he obviously attempted to walk in a straight line. "Everytime we come here, Nick!" The woman almost screeched at her partner. Her walking was a little more steadier than his. "You have to humiliate me in front of everyone! We can never have a quiet drink when you're around!" Rachel couldn't help but put two and two together, and come up with the conclusion that this 'Nick' guy's actions had gotten the pair removed from the bar. Getting oneself kicked out of a Hunter's bar was humiliating. The snort of laughter that fell from her lips as she walked past the couple did not go unnoticed by Nick. "What the Hell do you think you're laughing at, missy?" He slurred, almost stumbling as he quickly turned around to glare at her. A small smirk graced the blonde Winchester's features as her blue eyes regarded the man swaying dangerously before her. Whatever did his partner see in him? He obviously had a drinking problem and a bad temper. Her parents had probably warned her about men like him; bet she regretted not listening to their warnings and taking their advice now. "Obivously, nothing much." Rachel gently flicked her long blonde hair across her shoulder casually. "Aren't you a little young to even think about going to bars?" Nick scowled, hesitantly taking a very wobbly step towards the blonde. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. A mixture, a cocktail maybe? Rachel screwed up her facial features a little, turning her head ever so slightly in a vain attempt to get away from the fowl, overbearing stench. "Why don't you turn that fine ass of yours around, and go home to play with your dolls, little girl." The urge to beat Nick to a bloody pulp fell over Rachel. She could feel her fingers itching to grasp the handle of the recently sharpened blade she kept hidden inside her jacket. Had he seriously been checking her out, in front of his partner? "The guys in there are too butch for you, sweetcheeks. They'll tear you apart." Was he mocking her? Sure, she was short - only five-foot two - and she did have somewhat of a babyface, but that meant nothing. Rachel knew within herself that she was a good Hunter. Her brothers and those whom she allowed close to her knew that as well. She played by the rules, only breaking them when the situation allowed for it. The drunken man standing in front of her obviously thought he was the Bees-Knees, the hunter among hunters. The blonde Winchester had a pretty good feeling that she had seen and killed the monsters that he begged his wife to check under the bed for every night. It was men like him who gave hunters a bad reputation. Instead of beating the guy into a coma, the blonde Winchester smiled a playful, yet polite smile at Nick, baring her white teeth as she did. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Nick." She spoke smartly, with a little acid in her voice, as she turned to head into the building, turning her back on the couple and leaving them behind in the darkness of the parking lot. The atmosphere as she entered the building was different to the other hunter bars Rachel had graced with her presence. The customers seemed to be a lot happier, a lot more relaxed and a lot more talkative. Nobody seemed huddled in a dark corner, nursing a double Whiskey or Scotch or giving anyone that entered the bar a look that made that person feel as welcome as a bull in a China shop. Every customer seemed to be merry, slightly intoxicated but harmless. No wonder Dean had told her to come here; the bar was amazing! Rachel didn't feel out of place either. Unlike many of the other hunter bars, there were a few female punters sitting at tables with their male spouses, friends and hunting buddies. The presence of the bots did confuse the blonde Winchester sibling a little. What were their purpose here? They looked too perfect to have been a quick knock-up invention of an elderly hunter. Were they, waiting on the customers? Rachel's blue eyes scanned every face she could see. Being shorter than the average person her age, she did have to stand on her toes to get a better view. She seemed to be the youngest person in the building, not that it phased her. Her dress code was possibly a little different than everyone else's; wearing a pair or leather trousers under knee-high boots and a plain dark navy T-Shirt with a V-neck whilst everyone else seemed to be wearing their hunting jeans and checkered shirts did make her feel a little odd. It shocked her a little that nobody paid attention to her attire. She recieved plenty of friendly smiles instead. A relaxed smile graced Rachel's lips as she started to feel a little more at ease within the building and its occupants. Casually, the blonde wove her way through the heaving crowd towards the bar, deciding that it was probably rude to search for her older brothers without buying a drink or two first. After all, she could use a stiff drink after the last couple of days. Sarah Nate smiled at the pretty brunette and pointed to the other end of the bar where Dianna sat with Dean talking about the case. Nate was a thorough man though. Since the newcomer had asked for his boss by name, Nate decided to point her out to Dianna as well. He slid a fresh bottle of Crown Royal to her and she looked up at him as she caught it. He pointed to the young woman in front of him. Dianna nodded and gestured at the girl to join her. She grabbed her backpack and walked down the length of the bar. Dianna held out her right hand. "I'm Dianna Remington. What can I do for you?" On close inspection the pretty young woman seemed careworn. She had a familiar haunted look in her eyes. Dianna recognized it because she had felt the burn out herself. This woman was seeking a refuge of sorts. Dianna had allowed hunters to spend a night on a clinic bed when they needed to, but in this case she suspected that wouldn't do. He was a man after her own heart. She could use a drink right about now. The last several hours on the road had been long ones. They had given her time to think. There was something about Nate's dark brown eyes that caused her to hesitate. It simply just caught her attention. "Thanks," she flipped her hair back out of her face and slung her back pack over her shoulder. Despite her fatigue she still managed to flash him a flirtatious smile before heading down the bar to meet the red head. "Sarah Walker," she reached out shaking the woman's hand. The back pack fell to the floor next the bar stool. "I was looking for a job heard you might be hiring. I waited a few tables and mixed a few drinks in my day," she took a seat across from Dianna. Then began to pour both of them a drink. She grabbed hers and downed it in one shot, "look the thing is I just need off the road a little while but I don't want to be out of the loop. You know what I mean." She motioned towards all the people throughout the room. They both knew what she meant. A bar full of hunters was a den full of information. They all discussed the cases they were on when they were passing through. There was nothing to hide here, no false pretenses. Everyone here knew about the supernatural and hunting. They all knew what it was like to work a case or lose a loved one. She ran her fingers through her hair. "I can even sweep, mop, and even bounce a few surlies. There is nothing you can throw at me I can't handle," she ran her finger tip along her. The things she had seen and done in her line of work had been rough. There was nothing that could occur at the bar that would surprise her. She glanced down the bar at Nate curious what his story was. Perhaps she could learn more about him if she got to hang around, but for now she turned her focus back to Dianna awaiting her decision.
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