[She's struck by the sight of him at once, although it's difficult to articulate the reason. She's from LA, after all. Where all the pretty people live. But it's not just that he's good-looking. Which he is.
There's something unnaturally real about him.
Although, for the life of her, she can't say what 'real' means. It's some part of her Malkavian brain, that's all she knows for sure.
She walks over to him with purpose, her shoulders squared, her bare feet padding along the tiles. And she gives him a smile. One of her real ones. The kind that makes her eyes glow like the lights on a pinball machine.]
no subject
There's something unnaturally real about him.
Although, for the life of her, she can't say what 'real' means. It's some part of her Malkavian brain, that's all she knows for sure.
She walks over to him with purpose, her shoulders squared, her bare feet padding along the tiles. And she gives him a smile. One of her real ones. The kind that makes her eyes glow like the lights on a pinball machine.]
Sam Winchester?