Sookie Stackhouse

It had been exactly one week since Sookie Stackhouse had happened across George Sands leaning over a body on the beach, eyes caught on the sight of a large, gaping hole in the man's chest and slowly weeping wounds all along the throat. She had not intended to wait seven days before approaching George after the event, and had Sookie acted completely on impulse, she might have visited him the very next day in his hut. Fortunately for both of them, their shifts at the Winchester provided a good excuse for a grace period, time for both of them to calm their nerves and find some amount of calm before facing each other again— Sookie hoped that it was enough, that he would not yelp upon finding her heading toward the kitchen where he worked, but still she approached cautiously, not yet having donned the apron that signaled the start of her shift. In all honesty, it was unlikely that Neil would be angry with her for lagging several minutes behind anyway, not when she was working without pay and minded her job conscientiously once on the floor.

Hesitantly, she lingered by the counter next to the kitchen, peeking over her shoulder before she turned to face George fully with a wave.

"Hey, George," she greeted with a nervous smile, folding her arms neatly and watching him cook. Somehow, even though Sookie wasn't sure whether or not George was having any doubts to begin with, it seemed important to let him know that what she saw that evening didn't affect her impression of him, for better or worse. Even without Mitchell being thrown into the equation, Sookie appreciated all three of them, the group of former supernaturals who lived less than a quarter of a mile away from her own hut, and hoped that the friendships she had with all three would only strengthen. "How are you doin' today?"