[ it's the godawful symphony of squawking and shouting that brings cas jogging over, then the six-foot-four mass of familiar floppy hair and awkwardly flailing limbs in a panicked dash that makes him sprint. ]
Sam— [ his eyes catch on sam's assailant, surprised to see the livestock, but certain it must be something much more malevolent in the guise of a simple fowl, if it has the hunter on the run. time for cas to join the fray. ] I got it!
[ for a few beautiful moments, a train of absurdity parades through the training grounds - the behemoth that is sam winchester stomping about, one very angry chicken flapping and snapping after him, and a much shorter man in a frumpy, medieval trench coat lunging after the bird, putting all his eons of divine combat training into snatching up this creature. ladies and gentlemen of the free cities: we give you team free will.
at long last, cas makes a dive when the chicken touches down and manages to pin her wings n against her plump, feathered body, wiggling violently and kicking skinny little stick-feet in his hands.
Cas holds the chicken aloft, squints at her beady little eyes, turns the struggling hen this way and that, examining it for signs of malicious magic or possession. a were-chicken, maybe? poltergist chicken? vampire chicken, could be a vampire chicken.
but all his observations come up short. nothing seems amiss with this poultry, aside from her ravenous desire to peck through sam's ankles. it's a slow and sad dawning revelation. ]
It's... just a normal chicken.
[ Did you mean to run from a normal ass, egg laying, drowns in the rain, dumb as fucking nails chicken, sam winchester? ]
chicken shit
Sam— [ his eyes catch on sam's assailant, surprised to see the livestock, but certain it must be something much more malevolent in the guise of a simple fowl, if it has the hunter on the run. time for cas to join the fray. ] I got it!
[ for a few beautiful moments, a train of absurdity parades through the training grounds - the behemoth that is sam winchester stomping about, one very angry chicken flapping and snapping after him, and a much shorter man in a frumpy, medieval trench coat lunging after the bird, putting all his eons of divine combat training into snatching up this creature. ladies and gentlemen of the free cities: we give you team free will.
at long last, cas makes a dive when the chicken touches down and manages to pin her wings n against her plump, feathered body, wiggling violently and kicking skinny little stick-feet in his hands.
Cas holds the chicken aloft, squints at her beady little eyes, turns the struggling hen this way and that, examining it for signs of malicious magic or possession. a were-chicken, maybe? poltergist chicken? vampire chicken, could be a vampire chicken.
but all his observations come up short. nothing seems amiss with this poultry, aside from her ravenous desire to peck through sam's ankles. it's a slow and sad dawning revelation. ]
It's... just a normal chicken.
[ Did you mean to run from a normal ass, egg laying, drowns in the rain, dumb as fucking nails chicken, sam winchester? ]