A hundred thousand ways of choosin'. Who: Dean and Gretel (And OTA, should anyone be interested) What: Hunter meets Hunter, a few centuries out of time When: Thursday afternoon Where: The Rat Catcher Rating: Language/low Status: Ongoing
Gretel and her brother had learned a lot since arriving in this shit-hole; readily available hot water was awesome, but for the most part the future sucked, 'people' from other times and universes still had the ability to be fuckheads, and Marrowood was obviously designed to fuck with all of them in every way possible. One thing that carried over from their world was access to alcohol, but just like everything else in this place, it made something they were well accustomed to and amplified it's nastiness as much as possible.
In Marrowood, hangovers really fucking sucked.
Right after the whole shit-storm with spirit possessions and astral planes, both she and Hansel dragged their battered asses to the tavern to get completely and utterly drunk; it'd taken almost every bit of silver they had left, but the short reprieve of thinking had been the medicine they needed, even if it was temporary. After being cross-checked with a flying table and about four hundred books defending people they didn't know as they 'slept', they definitely needed it. Hansel passed out and stayed that way so long she'd checked his breathing several hours later in a small bout of panic. She'd followed suit not long afterward, but the havoc it weighed on her system was something she'd been paying for all damn week. Hansel was still in his well-justified rut and dealing with the hangover as well. As she had every day since the hospital, Gretel had hovered near him without fail, until today.
She hadn't planned on being long, but she wanted to occupy her throbbing head with something productive regarding the impending situation they would have to face again next month, and Hansel still grew visibly tense whenever she even mentioned their mother's Grimoire- let alone dug it out of their belongings. There was a section of healing magic she had been slowly working to translate; if the answer to his sickness was there, she would have to find it without him in the room.
So she sat at the corner booth in the Rat Catcher in the latter half of the day, ancient witch-book spread open in front of her, crossbow sitting beside it, as well as a 'mug' of water. Her attention was centered on the still unfamiliar swishes and graceful checks of her mother's penmanship, until the tavern door opened.