room 216 ; saturday afternoon

Sam's week hadn't really improved after Brannoc's phone call. It hadn't gotten worse but he'd hoped for good news. Brid had called him last night and hadn't given him that. The conversation hadn't been terse, thankfully, but he could tell she was worried which worried him. Something supernatural was attacking locals in Seattle and she hated that she couldn't figure it out. He'd tried to remind her that she wasn't a superhero but she'd said she was and Sam had laughed because he kind of figured she'd say that.

No one had died though and Brid had promised to keep looking. Sam had hung up with her promising to call if things got worse. And he'd actually admitted a fear that maybe Douglas had somehow escaped which she'd tried to reassure him was false.

Currently, Sam was trying to shove dirty laundry into a too small basket and getting more and more frustrated with it as minutes passed. He knew it wasn't the laundry that was causing his stress and frustration but a build up of a few things and his poor clothes were just in the way. He felt like he just kept hitting brick walls in every area of his life. He'd manage to climb over one and hit another and it was just an unending process.

Sam was getting a headache from all the brick walls. And his laundry was just not fitting in the freaking hamper. That was the story of his life, right there.

[Door & post are open, sure]