real folk blues (narrative) Who: Hugh Davis When: 6/3 morning Where: human encampment What: Being a human in the new world is not easy.
Hugh was not a violent person in his soul, but he knew when he had to defend himself. He didn't generally have much success defending himself--not with a bum leg and only human strength. Whatever the vampires or werewolves wanted from him, they would get. And after a while in the camp, he didn't even put up much of a fight. At least for himself. Hugh was a classic bleeding heart, and he couldn't stand by when others were mistreated, others even less capable of defending themselves--young girls, old men. Hugh offered what comfort he could to them. He tried to reason with the guards.
It was really all he could do.
He was there long enough to establish himself as a calm, level-headed guy. Old Souls were about the only group that could really bridge the gap between human and Night World, and Hugh had never stopped believing that they could work together. No race was all bad. But in the camps he saw the worst that the Night World had to offer, and it broke his head.
It also broke his arm.
He shouldn't have tried to get between a vampire and his prey, but as a Daybreaker, he couldn't sit back while humans were being hurt. He was tossed aside like nothing, but at least he passed out from the pain quickly. The humans took him from there, patched up his arm as best they could. They smuggled in supplies when they could, after all, as meager as they were.
He grinned to bite back the pain as they set his arm. "If any of you guys make it out there and meet a vampire named Raven Mandril, tell her hi for me."