In any event, Sandra The Saucy Crossroads Demonette gets right into with, "Well! Little Sammy Winchester. I'm touched." Yeah, in the head, maybe. "Little"? Sam? Take those blinding red contacts out of your eyes and try again, honey. Sandra The Saucy Crossroads Demonette ignores me as well, perhaps because she, too, realizes that there are still four minutes left in this episode, and we've got a ton of exposition to plow through before it's all over. "I mean," Sandra continues, "your [stupid midget of a] brother's been to see me twice, but you? I've never had the pleasure." Sam offers her nothing more than a stony bitchface, so Sandra allows her eyes to clear and politely inquires, "What can I do for you?" The shot cuts to a wide-angle of the two of them facing each other as Sam draws The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Can't from his waistband to level it at her, and hee! Even standing on a box -- in heels, I'm sure -- Sandra Mc Coy's still a full foot and a half shorter than Jared Padalecki. They're so cute. Anyway, Sam aims The Fucking Colt's barrel at her throat and sneers in response, "You can beg for your life!" Sandra tuts, "And we were having such a nice conversation." Deadly Action Sammy makes with the angry retorts, so Sandra attempts to defuse the volatile situation by complimenting his weapon. "That's not the original [Fucking] Colt," she notes appraisingly. "Where did you get it?" Deadly Action Sammy just stares her down until she realizes she already knows the answer. "Ruby?" she eyebrows incredulously before rolling her eyes slightly and sighing, "She is such a pain in my ass." With an attitude like that, you'll fit right in on the forum boards, Sandra. Please, join us!
Sandra assures Deadly Action Sammy that Ruby'll get hers in the end, but Sam's there to make Sandra an offer, not gossip about the sparkly haired demon. "You can let [my stupid little midget prick of a brother] out of his deal right now -- he lives, I live, you live," Deadly Action Sammy seethes, "or?" And he punctuates that by noisily cocking the gun. "You stop breathing, permanently." "All of this tough talk," Sandra smiles after a tense moment, "it's not very convincing." She saunters around, blatantly turning her back on him as she teases, "C'mon Sam -- do you even want to break the deal?" "Whaddya think?" Sam duhs. "I don't know!" Sandra croons, spinning at last to face him again. "Aren't you tired of cleaning up [that little prick's] messes? Of dealing with that broken psyche of his? Aren't you tired of being bossed around like a snot-nosed little brother?" "You're stronger than [that puny little idiot]," she argues, really getting into it. "You're better than him -- admit it! You're here, going through the motions, but the truth is? You'll be a tiny bit relieved when he's gone." "Hee!" Raoul shrieks. "She said 'tiny'!" Oh, trust me, my faithful companion, I'm tittering about it, too. Ignoring both us and Deadly Action Sammy, who orders her to stop, Sandra continues, "No more desperate, sloppy, needy Dean. You can finally be free!" Deadly Action Sammy, meanwhile, is very, very tall, and very, very hot. "I. Said. Shut. UP." he growls. "Mercy!" shrieks Raoul, fanning his overheated maw with one of his paws, for he is now a Southern lady with the vapors. "Mercy me!"