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room 227; monday afternoon
Jun. 4th, 2012 11:36 amWith Natalie gone for the last little while, Sam had gotten bored and ended up back in Seattle for a few days to see his friends. Of course, seeing friends meant seeing Brid which meant seeing Brannoc which meant he'd gotten roped into attending a Council meeting and volunteering (or maybe he was glared at until he relented) to raise someone with possible information about some the series of attacks that had been going on for awhile.
It had been a supposedly simple job that had gone wrong from the outset. From Sam cutting his hand a little too deep (blame Brid being distracting with some of her commentary on the whole situation and pacing around like a caged animal) to an innocent stumbling upon them in the graveyard trying to raise the witness (and screaming bloody murder) to the actual dead person refusing to give any information until Sam actually had to overpower his will and force him to do so.
And even then, the information was scarce. By then, Sam's hand was throbbing and smeared in blood but he'd been a little irritated with the whole situation and had just gone home. He'd slept a little and after that, he'd just decided to head back to the island.
That's where he was now, dozing restlessly with his hand messily wrapped in somewhat dirty bandages (look, he didn't take excellent care of himself) and a few bottles of painkillers on the nightstand. There were ghosts above him, swooping in and making keening whining noises every so often but Sam ignored them.
They'd be there when he woke up.
[Door closed, post open, and of course all stuff from Seattle and the ghosts NFB.]
It had been a supposedly simple job that had gone wrong from the outset. From Sam cutting his hand a little too deep (blame Brid being distracting with some of her commentary on the whole situation and pacing around like a caged animal) to an innocent stumbling upon them in the graveyard trying to raise the witness (and screaming bloody murder) to the actual dead person refusing to give any information until Sam actually had to overpower his will and force him to do so.
And even then, the information was scarce. By then, Sam's hand was throbbing and smeared in blood but he'd been a little irritated with the whole situation and had just gone home. He'd slept a little and after that, he'd just decided to head back to the island.
That's where he was now, dozing restlessly with his hand messily wrapped in somewhat dirty bandages (look, he didn't take excellent care of himself) and a few bottles of painkillers on the nightstand. There were ghosts above him, swooping in and making keening whining noises every so often but Sam ignored them.
They'd be there when he woke up.
[Door closed, post open, and of course all stuff from Seattle and the ghosts NFB.]
