He's been running this crappy motel for far too long. The only people who ever come in are dull old clandestine lovers, wanderers, poor people, and tons and tons of shady people that you would not want to meet in a back alley at night. He's so damn used to it that it's actually become dull. People come in, they pay on cards or they pay in a lot of cash and he forgets that he's seen them. Occasionally, occasionally he gets a surprise.
To keep from parsing words, the simply thinks: 'she's fucking hot'. She's got on short ripped black short shorts a white shirt and black jacket that aren't long enough to cover her stomach. Her black knee high boots are worn and dusty. She's got a belt buckle like a license plate (CNK 80Q3). Her hair was cut really short on one side, and parted longer on the other. Even on her dark brown skin he could see the black freckles smattered across her nose and cheeks. She had plump red lips, round cheeks and kind grey eyes. Her hips fit tight in her shorts, but her chest was nearly flat in her shirt. She had carvings in her skin, S.W. on her right thigh and D. W. on her right arm. She even had a gun visibly holstered on her left leg.
The only problem was that she was carrying three white boys with her.
"How can I help you?" he asked.
"I need a room for a week," she said, putting two of the boys down and plucking the third off her shoulder. "Dean, don't fuss," she said as she was bent over. He took a moment to leer at the lacey white thong that was exposed when she bent over.
She straightened up, pulling a wallet from her pocket. She shifted and he looked down, seeing one of the boys, the one with the darkest hair had attached himself to her leg, squeezing hard. He noted with some amusement that the kid had a hoodie fashioned after a trench coat.
He focused back on her pushing her driver's license and credit card across the desk. He picked the card up. It was really recent. "Baby Impala?" he asked.
"Yes," the woman said. Her voice really was something else. It was southern, genteel even, but deep and husky like the purr of an engine. "Is something wrong?" she asked, cocking her head to one side.
"No, no, it's not," he said quickly. "Did you pick your name?"
"My first love did," she said. "I'd always been Impala, but he called me Baby."
"Oh," he said, flushing a bit. He started to run the information. "Why brings you here to sunny no where?"
"Hunting," Baby said.
"Hunting? What exactly?"
"Witches," Baby said with a smile. The kids at her feet began to fuss. "Come on, Dean, leave Castiel alone."
"Are you babysitting?" he asked.
Baby straightened up, giving him a hard look. He nearly took a step back, suddenly realizing that this was not a woman he wanted to mess with.
"No," she said. "These are my boys. Now, do you have our room ready?"
"Yeah, sure," he said. He plucked a set of keys off the rack behind his desk and handed her one. "Do you need any help getting to your room?"
"No, we're good." She turned from hard to soft when she stopped looking at him and started to look at the kids. The one, Castiel apparently, was still attached to her leg. She scooped up the kid with the floppy hair, loading him up on her shoulder before grabbing up Dean.
He watched her walk out, not breaking her stride because there were boys attached to her. And her hips swayed in a very pleasing way as she exited. Though the last thing he saw before they left was that all three little boys were glaring at them like they could kill him. It occurred to him that they'd seen him checking Baby out.
Based on: castiels - fluffy - feathers . tumblr post / 47100321423