Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the TV series Supernatural nor the book Good Omens. The following writing was written for only purpose of entertainment.
01. War
A cherry-red Ford mustang smoothly ran through the highway.
He was known as a 'horseman', but it was nice to navigate through the troughs of the country without sporting a massive bruise on your butt, for a change, thought the driver- all those poor Roman soldiers, must have been hell of a ride when they've done the hot and heavy with their officers the last night- bet that's why they invented chariots. No direct contact on the area of distress. He chuckled to himself. He was meeting up his brothers, and he was in a good mood. He didn't dare misbehave under the stark gaze of his eldest brother, of course, but he would more or less manage to squeeze a ruckus while he was playing with the boys his size. And as everyone knew, inbred wars were the best. He hummed to the tune of Love is War - those Japanese were smart when it came to war, weren't they? 1941, as he knew, was their own creation, and was a damned good surprise in his views. Whatever will they think of next.
Another fiery red vehicle, sporting a thunderously beautiful woman as handsome as her vessel of choice, was roaring through the highway, just behind the mustang. She looked at the car with feline, gleaming amber eyes.
Others who peered into the well-tinted driver's window would see a quite good-looking man, well-established, about in his late 40s, perhaps a lawyer or some other career which demanded of well-spoken and well-timed verses. You'd buy him a drink if you spotted him alone at the hotel bar. But she wasn't about to be fooled. She could already sense the intense amount of conflict, of raging bloody war and a feel of destruction for the sake of destruction only- and it sent an uncommon tingle down her spine and fingertips. She gripped her motorbike handles a bit stronger. She wondered who it could be inside, and curled her lips upward behind her masked helmet. She was going to like this man, thing, or whatever it was riding the handsome vehicle in front of her.
' smells like- me.'
He had been eyeing the motorbike speeding into his rear window for sometime now. He wasn't exactly in urban settings, and he'd been mildly surprised at the presence of any other vehicle that was short of being a loaded truck. However, he was sensing something familiar, something that appealed to his inner sense of aesthetics to the thing. But the bike was speeding towards him, as if it was planning on doing a full head-to-head collision. He'd heard of reckless drivers, and didn't mind playing with them, but he rather liked the car, and was mindful to mend the bumps and indulge in regular cleaning. The bike sped in front of him, blasting his windows in a cloud of black exhaust.
So, that was what she was playing at.
He stared at the slim back of the woman riding in front of him. The lush, fiery red curls seemed familiar- oddly enough, he was recalling that time when he was having a bit of fun in Greece- there was a bit of a party going on about this girl. Also, that time when he was around in the hot countries- there was a reporter who wrote awful pieces of rag up in a newspaper.
And then he realized.
He smiled a crooked glimpse of a smile, and slammed his foot on the accelerator. Oh, This was going to be fun.