#openstart

Open starter | Hugsi & Muninn |

The Great Hall was warm from blazing hearth currently roasting meat, and the people were hanging wreaths made of evergreen branches and berries, and a bunch of mistletoe. There were candles lined up from end to end of the long table in the center of the hall. This, too, was decorated with fir branches and holly. It was, however, neglect of food for the time being, though there was a large wooden barrel of mead beside the entrance.

Snow had been tracked in through the large wooden doors, and Muninn was talking in the corner with a group of villagers, their black feathery cloak draped over their shoulders.

The 14 year old Hugsi sat upon Muninn's throne, watching rather than helping. He quite enjoyed the festivities they were currently preparing for, but he was becoming the age in which he felt too old for childish joy, but Muninn insisted he was still too young for a great many other things. In times like these, he longed for a visit from his father, and had secretly made a sacrifice last week to pray for one. Muninn was always rather insistent that his father wasn't needed, and knew exactly where to find them should he choose to look. Hugsi knew they were right, of course. They'd done well without him, but it didn't hurt to request his presence for such an important feast anyway.

He was, perhaps, just a little bitter that they would be receiving guests, but it was most unlikely that his father would turn up.

Muninn had tasked him with decorating the tree, though he mostly refused. He'd hung a single straw decoration that he had crafted, then made his way over to the barrel, drinking horn in hand. He scooped out a full horn of mead and took a drink.

And while she was perfectly happy to work out in front of people, at the moment she felt icky and sweaty, after pushing herself straight for the past hour and half - circuit training, bag work and the bike. Swim and sauna time. Changing pretty quickly into a costume, she took a few laps in the pool before slipping into the already half full sauna. “Busy this morning, isn’t it?” Lori attempted at a conversation start, settling into a spot beside the coals. 

Jesse had served in war zones. She had shot rebels, beaten terrorists, fought against military uprisings in heavy firefight, and now served at the pleasure of the Vice President of the United States of America as a Secret Service Agent. Yet if anyone, on any day, asked her what concerned her or pissed her off on the most regular basis, she would have one answer immediately. 

Birds. 

Today they were shitting on dignitaries that entered and exited the convention centre. It was a lunchtime event, so the birds were out in particularly good form. Jesse had been sent to assist Capitol Police for a few hours, supervising and coordinating the external perimeter detail as the attendees were particularly high value targets and the Vice’s office could spare her. She had already received four seperate complaints from diplomats regarding the birds, and as her phone beeped she instinctually knew another was on it’s way. She exhaled, trying to refocus. In the face of a security breach problem, there were set protocols and action plans. They ran these drills multiple times a week, in small and large groups, examining each step for contingencies and possible outcomes. Yet no action plan equipped the multilingual Georgetown graduate with any plan to get rid of the sky rats. 

She shifted her feet slightly, seeing a nearby woman exclaim in broken english and point to sky, white marks on her Givenchy dress. She turned as firm footsteps approached, and she saw a familiar face plastered with an angry expression. “I already know about the damn birds,” she said in an apologetic tone, “I don’t know what to tell you. We tried banging things to scare them off, and one of the Cap guys was honking his horn for a while. They won’t move.” She paused for a moment, offering a sympathetic shrug, “I can’t shoot them.”

The past few weeks had been torture, literally. With the fall of his village, Hugsi and his parent, Muninn, had been captured by the Christian forces, and tortured. It wasn't until Muninn found a way to create a diversion, if that's what one would call it, that Hugsi was able to escape. Even now, Hugsi could still hear their voice, commanding him to run and leave them behind. He felt immense guilt for it, but did as he was told.

The 14 year old stumbled through the woods, desperate for blood, and shelter, food, and warmth. He'd killed a reindeer and drank it dry, but he was still injured. The wounds weren't healing as fast as they should have. He knew he had to keep going, or the troops would find him again.

He'd found a Christian village and sought shelter, pretending to be Christian himself, but in the end, his bloodthirst and rage had caused him to destroy it, much like Christians had destroyed his home. He'd made his mark as the monster he was labeled as, and fled what he'd done, leaving drained corpses in his wake.

Once more, in the woods, and still healing all too slowly, he reached a new level of desperation. He found himself begging the gods for help. For Muninn to escape and find him, or to take him away from this land. He begged for Loki, and he begged to his siblings, who he'd never met. He didn't know what else to do. He sacrificed another reindeer to go along with his cries for help, just the way Muninn had taught him, and built a campfire to cook his hunt.

He hoped that at the very least, the gods would heal him fast, like how he'd healed any other time.

Bright lights scorched Nick's eyes, like staring into the sun on the brightest day of the year. But as he lifted his arm to shield himself from it, the twinge of pain in his chest hitched his breath. He choked out a cough, as the searing pain of a bullet wound had reality spiraling around him, overlapping with dimmed memories.

What was the last thing he remembered? His mom. His sister. A gunshot. It rang out all over again, hurting his ears. Charlie. He remembered how he'd tried to help her. Tried to save her. Trusted her. And she shot him. He remembered the dead, and the woods, and trying to get past them. He remembered the pain and the fear, and then he remembered the darkness.

Am I dead? Did I die? Is this bright light Heaven? Is Heaven even real? Hell is on Earth.

But the longer his eyes were open, the more adjusted they were, and the rest of the room slowly came into focus. A hospital. He was in a hospital.

Weren't those a thing of the past? When was the last time I was in a hospital? Gloria. That was years ago! She was the first one I saw. And... and I ran. I got hit by a car. Calvin tried to...

Nick looked down at himself. There was blood on his chest, seeping through a bandage. Fuck.

No, I killed Calvin. He didn't kill me... or... no, all these years couldn't have been some sort of- it's not the drugs. It's not the fucking drugs! And I'm not crazy. The dead come back. The dead- then I'm not dead? I'm not like that. I'm not... So... where am I? But what if... What if it is the drugs? What if Charlie isn't real? What if I didn't kill Calvin? What if he shot me and it's all just... the drugs?

The heart monitor began beeping faster and faster as Nick tried to will his body to get up out of the bed despite the pain. He wasn't restrained, but the pain was terrible. But he didn't dare call out for help. He was too afraid of what he might find out.

John had gotten a late night call from his friend and hunting partner, Henri. The other hunter seemed worried, and even afraid. This was important, he could tell. Something big was about to happen, so he packed the room up and got the kids in the car as quickly as he could, and sped off to New York. It was a good two day drive, and he made it in one, but it wasn’t enough. He got to the Duval estate, and ordered the kids to stay in the car while he barged in. What he found was a nightmare.

He followed a trail of blood to the living room, where he found Adélaïde, lifeless on the floor. The fire alarm was blaring, and there was smoke coming from upstairs. He called out for Henri, and only a weak reply drew his attention. He followed the voice to behind the couch, where Henri was slowly bleeding out, with his teenage son hovering over him with a knife. Henri weakly informed him that the twins had been taken, and that the boy, Armand, was possessed. It was only then that Armand’s green eyes flashed fully black, and John knew what to do.

John gripped the kid tight, exorcizing him. The demon flew out in a puff of smoke, and the boy fell limp in John’s arms. He came to, only as Henri uttered his final wishes to John to keep the kid safe, but not as Henri requested for John to find the twins. John agreed, and helped the teen out to the Impala, and got him into the back seat. Still, John knew he couldn’t keep this kid. So he did the next best thing. He decided to drop him off with another trusted hunter that could keep him safe.

“Hey uh... sorry to pop in on you unexpected, but... there’s been a little problem, and I need your help,” said John, rubbing his face. If they refused, he’d get stuck with Armand, and he knew it. He was struggling enough to provide for the kids he already had, but he’d do what he had to, he supposed.

[Open to: Johns, if you wanna take over from here, Deans, Sams, other hunters canon or oc

Nick couldn’t go home. Nobody there understood him. He had to be on his own, and do his own thing. That thing was drugs, sure, but it was his own thing. It helped. It was the only thing that helped. So for now, home was wherever he could rest his head. As of late, it was an abandoned church. It was the perfect spot to lay low, and shoot up. He and Gloria had scored the night before.

When he awoke, however, she was nowhere. He’d called out to her, and searched the church for her. And when he found her, he’d wished he hadn’t. What he had seen - what had he seen?! Gloria was eating someone. It couldn’t have been the drugs, right? Or he’d be eating someone too, or doing something insanely stupid, at least. But he didn’t stick around to find out. 

He bolted from the church, barefoot, and in clothes that were too big. He fled down the road, wide eyed in pure terror. He didn’t know what hit him - literally. One moment he was running, the next he was in the air, the next he was on the ground. And then, he was in an ambulance, incoherently mumbling about what he’d seen. 

When he came to completely, he was handcuffed to a hospital bed. And when it was clear that nobody took his claim seriously, he shut up about it. He didn’t even bother talking about it when his mother eventually showed up and questioned him. All he could think about was how the hell to get out of there. That, and what he had seen. If nobody else believed him, was it real? Or was he finally losing his mind? He wasn’t even sure which was worse, but he knew he didn’t want to lose his mind. His family had left him, alone with his thoughts.