|bountied (bountied) wrote in parabolical,|
@ 2008-07-05 00:02:00
|Entry tags:||open, sam oliver|
Who: Sam Oliver and OPEN
What: There might be demons in my milk
Where: grocery store
Sam didn't know how it had happened. He'd never imagined it to actually be possible. Somehow, though his day had started with him tripping over a poorly placed vessel on the kitchen floor, he was actually having a good day. He knew that he shouldn't be questioning his good fortune (given how often things seemed to go horrible wrong for him), but it was just weird to get to five o'clock in the afternoon and still have a positive outlook on life. This said a lot about his life.
He sort of resented the fact that it had taken getting thrown two years back in time and being yanked out of Seattle to get him to the point where he was having several good days in a row. It had started with just good hours. Then he'd noticed those hours turning into full mornings, full afternoons, and then finally full days. Then those days had started to come one right after another.
Even days like this one when he did find himself straddled with a vessel didn't completely suck. Sam's naturally pessimistic nature found itself confused more often than not, when he didn't get his ass handed to him each time he went out after a escaped soul. It wasn't that he wasn't getting hurt (it was getting to the point where his left wrist was pretty much in constant pain and there wasn't a spot on his back that hadn't been bruised), but he sort of thought—very hesitantly—that maybe he was just getting better at this whole soul catching thing. It was easier when the devil wasn't popping in every five minutes to mock him.
Sam had no desire to actually say that out loud though, especially not standing in the middle of the supermarket. He'd say that and then a demon would jump out of his milk.
And see, there went his pessimistic side again.
Granted, maybe this time it was a little more warranted. He was carrying the gallon of milk (which he and Trance really did need) in an ordinary looking supermarket basket which was actually that day's vessel. He hated vessels like these, always wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with it once he'd found the soul. Beat them over the head repeatedly?
He sighed, wincing at the thought. This was the supermarket the basket belonged to, but Sam was just hoping that this first walk through would be more like a case-the-joint thing. He really didn't want to kill a soul in a supermarket filled with soccer moms and check-out chicks.