[text] @winchester; backdated to march 7th.

[helled]

Hey. My name is Sam and I've been here for about a month now. [ Give or take a few days. ]

So, it's been requested of me and my brother Dean to help out a little where we can, using the skills we have. [ Not a problem there. But here's where it gets a little dicey ... it's no secret that he and Dean hunt the supernatural, but it doesn't exactly bring him great comfort having to publicly out themselves, especially given some of their experiences with the FBI in the past. Thing is, if it gains them a little credit to their offer, Sam sees no other choice in this matter. And hey, maybe they won't have to go undercover as agents and health inspectors anymore.

Here goes: ] I'd say we're both pretty experienced in combat and defence. Back home we're hunters so dealing with spirits like this is kind of our M.O. Haven't really figured out what manner of spirit this is yet, but Rastus thought it wouldn't do anyone harm to learn a little defence training, so we're opening that up to anyone interested in maybe getting a few tips from us.

Right now we wanna get a headcount for interest. More details to follow. If anyone's got any questions, we're here to answer them too.

Oh and one more thing: my brother and I are gonna be out of town for a few days if anyone's looking to see us in person. If all goes well, we'll be back soon.

Thanks for your time.

Comments

[withsadness]

Oh! Okay! I like music, so I can learn about that, too!

[She'll be the smallest and most enthusiastic member of Camp Winchester, which is apparently going to be a camp full of very socially isolated children.]

I'll go find some plaid from the general store so you don't kick me out.

[cained]

( dammit why does he have such a weak spot for children. )

I ain't gonna kick you out. But I do gotta ask: how old are you?

[withsadness]

I'm nine! Do you want to know how I died? That's usually the next question that people ask! I was murdered.

[Just, you know, saving time.]

[cained]

( jesus christ. he needs a drink. several, maybe. )

Who murdered you?

( and he sounds ... overprotective, almost, like if he found the person responsible he definitely wouldn't hesitate in putting them down. he doesn't even know anything about this kid, but he feels like she's his responsibility now. )

[withsadness]

My friend. She set me on fire 'cause she didn't like me anymore. Everyone says I shouldn't be her friend anymore.

[Though, in a sense, if Ib ever died and showed up here, they'd be even?]

[cained]

( well. that's. not what he was expecting. if they were anywhere else, he'd probably be a lot more wary, considering that's prime motive for a spirit to go vengeful. then again, there's no way that didn't fuck up a child, even if she ended up here. )

They're damn right. Friends don't set friends on fire.

[withsadness]

Friends don't set friends on fire!

[She repeats the sentiment with fervor.]

I like to draw pictures for my friends! Would you like a picture?

[cained]

( atta girl. )

Sure, why the hell not. You go wild with that picture, kiddo.