- (tinieblas) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-01-04 04:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | !hotel, *log, cristián martin-argüelles, louis donovan, micah callaghan, neil donovan, sam alexander |
Hotel: Trapping Micah
Who: Sam, Louis, Neil, Cris & Micah
What: A trap (that is sure to fail)
Where: The hotel, a hallway
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Language, drugs, Sam.
No one was thrilled with this plan.
It was good, yeah, that Sam was so gone on benzos by the time the plan even came up. She insisted, and she was calm enough not to panic like fucking crazy before she even made it off the hospital bed. And she knew none of the men gathered were happy, but she didn't want anyone dead or hurt because of her, and this seemed like their best fucking chance at that. Micah wouldn't fall for this again; it was their one chance. And there was no way the fucker would show himself if she wasn't there. He wasn't stupid or whatever. He would look before he showed himself, and he wasn't going to do that if he saw Neil, or Lou, or Cris.
Yeah, no, this was the only way.
Breaking out of the hospital was easy with a police badge, and Sam just tried not to look at anyone too long. If she didn't make eye contact, it would be easier to pretend she was clearer than she was. Because she really wasn't clear at all, yeah? But she'd slept a little bit, and she wasn't seizing. She was still fevered, and her blood pressure kept doing fucked up shit, but she was only crashsick. No real withdrawal stuff yet, and she told herself she would be fine if she just got back to the hospital by the time the cramping in her stomach got too bad.
She was slow, socks and the flannel over scrubs, her hair loose and wild against her face. Pale as fucking paper, and she knew she wasn't going to make it way too far. They wouldn't be able to linger outside the door, yeah? Not without giving away where she was. But maybe just a landing down or whatever.
So, that's what she did. As soon as they left the door, she gripped the railing. Unsteady step, and she went down to the stairs and down one railing, and not paying any attention to where anyone else went. But she made it to that landing alone, because she couldn't just show up wherever she was going to be with three dudes in tow. She was slower then, fear making her paler, and by the time she reached that topmost step, she was done with this whole standing thing.
She held onto the railing, and she sat down with the slowness of someone's whose bones were really starting to fucking ache. Top step, and she crammed herself close to the railing, away from the center of the stairs, safety in the press of wood against her shoulder. Blonde hair tangling along the bannister, and she pressed her cheek there and closed her eyes. Bad idea, maybe, but it was better than the panic that was setting in and making her start at every creak of the old hotel's bones.
Fever-red climbed on pale cheeks, and she tucked a corkscrew of blonde behind her ear, and she was like a kid in a haunted house with her eyes screwed tight shut. She really wanted a smoke, and her fingers shook so hard she could barely hold onto the railing with both hands, which she was trying to do, without it making her jerk with the force of the trembling.