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Hiding the onslaught of nerves the pile of weapons brought to the pit of her stomach, Misha tipped her head to one side as she settled her hands on her curvaceous hips. So they were going to have to go to Switzerland and deal with birds? That didn't sound too hard. She had grown up in Philadelphia, surrounded by pigeons with cousins in the New York City bird mob. Nothing could be more cut-throat than those flying rats, she figured.

She risked a quick look around at the other Chosen surrounding her, careful that Max didn't catch her attention wandering. Besides... With all of the big strong men in this little camp (and some big strong women, too), everything would be just fine. In fact, she probably wouldn't have to even lift a finger. She could be a cheerleader or something. An impish smile curved her lips. Or, probably, she would just focus on making sure any of the civilians were out of the way. Push them indoors, drag them out of the way of great swinging swords, hugs crying kiddies... Yeah, she could do that kind of thing.

She would leave all of the heavy death-dealing to those who had a talent for such things.

That decision settled the butterflies somewhat and Misha stepped forward before she could think twice. With only slight hesitation over the colors of coats and boats and coordinating a ruck-sack with the outfit, she picked up her gear and moved to the pile of weapons. Her grey eyes flitted quickly past swords and spears and war hammers. Finally, she reached out and picked up a light buckler, gleaming bright with silver and gold chasing lines and deep red enamel-work. "This should do just fine," she quipped.

Then she sauntered towards the fire, grinned brightly at Hestia - and how crazy was that? - and stepped through the flames before she could flinch in front of the others.

Okay. This was new. So far they had all been working together, learning just what it meant to be Chosen. It was great really, something that was new to her and exciting. She had never really fought before in her life, but she had done some minor stage fighting for a play before. That plus the little working out she naturally did to keep her figure. With this being said when she was told that they were all going on a mission of sorts she was nervous. As she picked up a great bow out of the weapons, something that had come almost naturally to her from the beginning of training. She wasn't the type to get up close and person when fighting, so a bow fit her perfectly. The great bow even more so, since she could hit targets from further away and harder.

As for the other gear she wasn't so picky. As long as it was warm and fit her she was willing to wear it, and anything useful came with her. It was strange dressing in such clothing, it didn't fit the weather outside, but she knew that soon it would be a blessing. As she waited for her turn to get into the hearth she looked at the others all around her. Some she had spoken to while there were others whom she had no contact with previously. Likewise the faces around her had many different expressions. Some seemed excited, while there were others that looked down right sick at the though of going and fighting monsters. She was in the middle personally, but hoped that her face didn't give away any emotion.

When Hestia introduced herself Beaulah gave a bow of her head, feeling horrible that she wasn't aware of the Goddess before. She hoped that there weren't other Gods and Goddesses walking around camp, interacting with everyone and hiding who they really were. She didn't let her thoughts get away from her though, she knew it was time to focus. Listening intently, when it was her time walked through the hearth into a new place.

Fire and water didn't exactly mix, but Cas was reveling more in the familiar feeling of preparing for a op than focusing on anything else. He'd missed this, having orders, being sent to sort out an issue, facing new challenges. Already the quiet tension in the air had him pumped. It almost felt like a homecoming.

He glanced at the weapons, wishing not for the first time since his arrival at the Prytaneum that they had something more like the M16s he'd spent a decade using, before picking up a sword and feeling its balance in his hands. He'd used that in his first fight with Marisol and Rose, and it had served him well then. No doubt it would again.

A smirk rested on his face, neither excited nor nervous. Simply anticipating what was to come. Cas had, in hindsight, been feeling restless for months now. His retirement from the Marine Corps had left him more aimless than he'd wanted to be, and now, just moments before stepping into the fire, he felt more alive than he had in a long time. This was where he belonged, faced with excitement and danger. He'd missed this.

The smirk stretched into a polite smile as he passed Hestia, and then he stepped into the flames without a second's hesitation, eager to be on his way.

Let's get it done, he thought as he found his footing on the other side. Time to track down some birds.

Brian arched a brow at the coats lying in wait for them. His suspicion immediately was that they were going somewhere, but where? Had they really been here long enough to be sent out into battle in... where ever it was snowing? Somewhere across the world?

Still, he kept his expression stoic as the explanation was given. Birds. Sure. He could deal with birds. If he could deal with people hyped up on dope he could deal with birds. Supernatural birds might be something else entirely, but it was best to never get ahead of oneself.

At the sudden revelation regarding the cook, he did offer a little bow of the head and an unsure glance upward. Sure, she wasn't his Zeus, but she was a goddess nevertheless. In his life, he never imagined that he'd see any evidence of supernatural forces, let alone the higher powers of various belief systems, but he also hadn't believed in religious intervention or that dogs could talk, so there went that.

He stood from his seat and followed the exodus, stopping only at the armory table to choose a weapon. He had been expecting some sort of handgun to better acquaint himself with, but no, he found only archaic tools of ancient battle. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a strangled noise came out. Hey, it wouldn't do any help to start questioning things now.

There were weapons of all sorts, from close-combat to ranged (in fact, he had confiscated a pair of knuckles quite like this one before coming to the Prytaneum) but his comfort always sat with ranged. Considering the high school archery team, he sighed heavily and grabbed a bow and quiver.

Brian was on alert, as he always was, as they crossed through the woods, but coming to the fire he felt a little trepidation. Nah, the gods had gone through all of this trouble to find them and recruit them and clothe and arm them, they weren't going to be sacrificed in otherworldly flame. He only looked to the flames a moment after the woman before him stepped through, and passed through it at a jog.

Ewan was proud of himself for not immediately balking at being asked to walk through fire. He'd spent his first few days at the Prytaneum sort of mentally glossing over the fact that he'd been chosen by a god, like all of this was still, somehow, an intricate prank and he'd be able to go back home anytime he chose -- no matter the fact that he'd been enjoying the facilities, that everything else pointed out the fact that this was his reality now.

No matter that Zeus had personally spoken to him through his headphones that fateful night in the observation deck.

Ewan, with his coat over his shoulders and a pack with supplies in it [he'd had boots, already, that was lucky], shuffled along the line until he stood face to face with the armory, and then stared there for a moment longer, dark brows knitting over his eyes. What to pick? He'd never handled one of these in his life, and his knowledge of their use amounted to what he'd read in Game of Thrones.

He picked up a sword -- simple enough, of simple design and adequate heft. He knew how to use it, in theory -- one could block with the length of the blade or cut or stick with the pointy end or side. Just like Arya had said, he thought, and maybe the thought was a little hysterical. It was all he could do to stop grinning like a lunatic and looking absolutely insane. But things felt insane.

When he felt ready, which was sooner than he thought he should have felt ready, he heaved a deep breath and pulled his coat on, setting his sword at his feet. Picking it back up after his coat was on, he sighed, glanced again to Hestia -- like this was an elaborate prank and he was just going to go WHOOF! into the flames and burn up -- and then stepped through.

Onto the other side. Which was suddenly nothing but swirling air and snow, and the chud of boots in snow. There was a sudden press of bodies all crushed together, which made Ewan a bit panicked before he swallowed it back down and regained his habitual calm .It had given him the sense of prisoners all bunched together, trying to get somewhere, to their freedom -- which usually sparked some sort of drama, some emergency. He considered that this was just about the same thing... though in the blazing, bright-blue sunlight, there were huge shadows overhead, metallic squawks, and suddenly the scream of a woman.

This was probably not good.

He looked up just in time to see a huge bird, made of flashing bronze and .. metal? swoop down on someone, raking them with claws that trailed strings of gore. Suddenly the sword at his waist didn't feel so reassuring. Even though he'd been chosen by a god -- and he was sure about that, it had definitely happened [proven by the existence of the Prytaneum] -- ... he wasn't sure that he really felt like a hero.

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