Who: Sam What: Narrative: New digs Where: Neil's place When: Recentish Warnings/Rating: Language
Sam hadn't managed to break free of the paramedics until late, and she managed to kiss enough firefighter ass to get back into her apartment long enough to grab some of her shit. Clarissa was there, screaming her head off, and Sam was pretty sure it was because the woman expected to get arrested for possession once they started clearing out the debris. Whatever, not Sam's problem. She wasn't on the lease, and she didn't even have a driver's license that said she lived in the charred shithole.
Most of her art was all metal, 100% and not that hollow crap they sold these days. It withstood flame, like she knew it would, and the only thing she would really have to replace was her specialty MIG and torch, but she could sell a few grams for that. The problem wasn't the metal surviving, it was that the heavier pieces were heavy, and getting them transported to a luxury hotel on the strip? Yeah, so not happening, at least not by herself. So, she kissed some more firefighter ass, found one that liked his weed, and got an agreement that he would come back in the morning and help her with the gate and a few of the smaller pieces. Fine, she'd take a loss on the rest, because there was no way she was coming back to possession central, not after the smoke cleared and the police department got busy hunting for names and heads to stick on proverbial pikes.
She spent the hours until morning selling the gram she'd stashed under the toilet (for emergencies), and she had a brand new MIG and a sweet detail torch in the back of a cab by the time she was supposed to meet her firefighter junkie. Another baggie of hash, and she had her stuff piled on his truck. Done deal.
It was midday, and she was counting on Neil being at work, because letting her use some space and seeing a metal gate walk through your front door? Yeah, maybe not the same thing. She thought she might get crap from the chick at the desk, but yeah, no. Key in hand, she let the firefighter lug things in and out of the luxury sweet, amid the shocked and disapproving stares of Neil's neighbors, who all wore "What the fuck just happened to the neighborhood?" expressions on their faces. And, admittedly, she looked like gray-soot trash. It made her chuckle, which probably didn't help matters.
She didn't take his bedroom, despite giving him shit about it. She was nice (shocker) and took one of the guest rooms, even though it didn't boast a sitting room that was larger than her entire house growing up. It was still nicer than anything she'd ever lived in, and she imagined her parents concocting some plan to milk Neil of every last cent. She loved her family, but they were all crooks through and through - including her. Whatever, her parents weren't here, and neither was her husband, and Clarissa was probably somewhere hiding from her seller.
She worked for a few hours, the unique smell of torch and burning metal carrying across the entire suite, and then she stole one of his shirts, showered and crawled into her new bed. She was exhausted, and sleep came quick, but not before she found some unintelligible aria on the room's built in sound system. The blinds closed with the push of a button, a soft snick as the room became shrouded in darkness and music. Oh, yeah. She could get used to this.