- light fires... -

Back at the bar, Sam was waiting a little too patiently for Dean to return from the second graveyard. His own rudimentary graveyard sweep had been fruitless, which had left him with little choice but to go back to the bar and chase tail. The town of Cerebral, Indiana was small and a little too genetically similar, but there were women in the bar, some of whom were very receptive to the handsome stranger with the suit and badge.

By now, he was on his seventh drink, but it seemed that not having a soul meant getting drunk did very little except mildly impair his motor skills. Still, it was enough for him to take the precaution of a tall barstool and a steady counter. "Keep 'em coming, Joan," he said to the bartender, whom he had been scamming out of drink money for the past three hours.

'Joan' happily poured him another drink, and Sam happily drank it as he scanned the bar for anything - or anyone - interesting. It was getting dark out, and Sam anticipated that more pleasing company would drop by soon enough.

His guess turned out to be correct. Just as he was about to finish his drink, the bells on the door jingled, and two women walked in. At first glance, Sam smiled because they were hot, but the longer he looked, the stranger they seemed.

The first girl was dark to the second girl's light- dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes next to light hair, light skin, and light eyes. Dark girl hung close to light girl, like light girl was something worth protecting, and as he looked her up and down, he raised an eyebrow appreciatively. He could see why. Vaguely, he wondered if they were involved.

Light girl said a few words to dark girl, and dark girl nodded. Light girl swayed away into the back room dreamily and dark girl headed for the bathroom. It was a little anticlimactic. Sam sighed and swiveled back to the counter.

"May I get you something to drink, sir?" Impossibly fast, light girl was behind the counter, aimlessly trying to tie her apron behind her back. Sam jumped, and then jumped again when he saw how close she was. Her intent gaze had shifted, and her hazy eyes were now fluttering dangerously close to his face. She looked high. Sam froze.

"... Thanks."

She blinked, as if unfamiliar with the term. Her head tilted and Sam was reminded of Castiel. "You look familiar."

Remembering the FBI scare from months earlier, Sam raised his eyebrows. "You must be mistaken," he said dismissively.

Light girl frowned ever so slightly. "I would remember your face," she said blankly. "You have an unusually phi-like geometric ratio." Her gaze was starting to become uncomfortably searching. "You were on a news channel a while ago." Sam tensed. "You were investigating some strange deaths in Iowa."

He bit back a sigh and instead offered her a relaxed smile. "Yeah, that's my partner and I." She poured his drink as he spoke. "Speaking of whom, you haven't seen another agent around, have you? Blonde hair, kind of butch? Goes by McVie?" he asked, like he suddenly remembered that he had a brother he hadn't seen all day.

But the bartender - El, according to her name tag - didn't seem to be listening. "May I get you something to drink, sir?" she asked someone a seat down from Sam. Curiously, he glanced over to see who it was. It was dark girl, back from the bathroom.

"Stop reading your damn sign, love, and make me a Hurricane," she sighed, and Sam was surprised to hear such a thick accent. He put on his best smile and greeted her with a nod.

She offered Sam a disinterested glance, and then did a double take. "Congratulations on your face."

It wasn't exactly what he had been expecting, but he took the compliment. "Thanks, um, I was born with it," he laughed, and dark girl smirked a little. Sam decided he had to find out her name since he couldn't keep calling her dark girl for much longer before it started sounding racist. "I'm Sam."

"Hmm, Sam," she hummed. "Do you smoke, Sam?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "No." Soul or not, smoking didn't seem like a good idea health-wise.

She fumbled around in one of her many pockets before tugging out a cigarette. "Got a light? Lost mine."

Sam did, in fact, have a lighter. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his zippo, striking the flint and offering it to her.

Once lit, she took a long drag from the cigarette, closing her eyes. "Thanks."

She seemed quiet and relaxed, so Sam took the opportunity to talk. "You don't sound like you belong here."

She didn't open her eyes. "Is that so." Her tone was dry, but not unwelcoming.

"Australia's an ocean away," he prompted.

She laughed a hearty laugh. "What can I say. Tourism's a booming business in ol' Cerebral. Internationally acclaimed, this place is."

Playing along, Sam smirked. "With tourists like yourself, I can see why."

She raised an eyebrow and the corners of her lips turned up. The bartender came back with her drink, and she took it with a silent nod. "Rilen," she said after taking a lazy sip.

"Sorry?"

"That's my name," she clarified. "Rilen. Rilen Kahn."

I didn't even revise this one. Oh well. Apologies.