room 216 ; thursday afternoon

Sam hadn't gone home for Thanksgiving. He'd thought about it but, in the end, laziness had won and he'd begged off his mom's celebrations and just told Ramon and Frank to have a party. Between things with the Council, things on the island and things that he'd been hearing on the radio, his overall mood would have soured any holiday celebrations for sure.

In fact, he actually had no plans to leave his room. He'd ordered way too much Chinese food and was now lying on his bed, eating it slowly (because he intended it to last). His feet were bare, his pants were threadbare and his shirt was old and worn but he was comfortable and his mood was somewhat decent.

When Brooke popped up, planting herself at the foot of his bed and looking at him sadly, he guessed his mood wouldn't stay that way.

"Happy Thanksgiving," she said, patting his leg. "You look like a hobo."

At that, Sam actually chucked and tossed a chopstick at her. He wasn't using them to eat his food anyway.

"It's called comfort. Isn't Thanksgiving all about comfort or something?"

"Well, that and eating enough that you end up barfing all over the place," Brooke added eloquently. "Oh, and sales. Thanksgiving is all about sales."

"Yeah, well. You can do that. I'll sit here and try not to freak anyone else out," he said and sighed. Brooke gave his leg another pat and decided to stick around for a little while. She'd bother him and he'd be thankful that he had someone to talk to even if it was one of his ghosts.

[Door's closed but the post is open. Hey yay, day off! ETA: I KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS, I PROMISE.]