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room 216 ; friday night
Jan. 20th, 2012 05:52 pmSam tended to come back from wherever he'd been bleeding more often than not. Most of the time, that was due to skateboarding but other times, like this time, it was due to something else. He'd been in Seattle for a few hours, attending an emergency Council meeting (that had been rescheduled once) and then actually having to use the power he'd been born with in an attempt to glean information from a recently passed man.
It wasn't his favorite thing to do and even with Brid there to help him out, he'd still had to cut the palm of his hand, still had to bleed and still had to explain to the poor man what had happened and what was going to happen. It sucked, frankly, and it had been for naught since the poor man hadn't remembered anything but pain and blood which left them at a dead end. The attack was probably supernatural and probably a werewolf who was probably part of a pack (Brid's words, not his) but there was no proof.
So, the Council had scheduled another meeting (something Sam was just thrilled with) and, after saying hello to Frank and Ramon, he'd come home and and was now peeling his bloody bandages off his hand so he could put fresh ones on. The cut on his hand was still angry red and flecked with dried blood. Sam squeezed his hand into fist, wincing at the pain.
The cut started bleeding anew and Sam sighed. So soon after Douglas wasn't the time he wanted to deal with a new pack of werewolves. Sure, Brid seemed a little excited for some action but he wasn't. He was just...worried. He was worried that if werewolves like Michael could come back in droves, then why not other necromancers?
Yeah, Sam was a pessimist. And he shook his head and tried not to think about that anymore. He'd done enough for one day. He needed to relax...after he wrapped his hand up.
[Door's closed but the post is open, shore shore]
It wasn't his favorite thing to do and even with Brid there to help him out, he'd still had to cut the palm of his hand, still had to bleed and still had to explain to the poor man what had happened and what was going to happen. It sucked, frankly, and it had been for naught since the poor man hadn't remembered anything but pain and blood which left them at a dead end. The attack was probably supernatural and probably a werewolf who was probably part of a pack (Brid's words, not his) but there was no proof.
So, the Council had scheduled another meeting (something Sam was just thrilled with) and, after saying hello to Frank and Ramon, he'd come home and and was now peeling his bloody bandages off his hand so he could put fresh ones on. The cut on his hand was still angry red and flecked with dried blood. Sam squeezed his hand into fist, wincing at the pain.
The cut started bleeding anew and Sam sighed. So soon after Douglas wasn't the time he wanted to deal with a new pack of werewolves. Sure, Brid seemed a little excited for some action but he wasn't. He was just...worried. He was worried that if werewolves like Michael could come back in droves, then why not other necromancers?
Yeah, Sam was a pessimist. And he shook his head and tried not to think about that anymore. He'd done enough for one day. He needed to relax...after he wrapped his hand up.
[Door's closed but the post is open, shore shore]
