Who: Heather and Sam. What: Heather wanted to get drunk. Sam thinks that it's a good idea if he supervises. Although we can't exactly be so sure that he won't get wasted himself, now can we? When: Evening. Where: Heather's place. Rating: High; complete.
Sam had spent the last few days absorbed in nothing other than tracking War down. He constantly posted himself outside of crowded areas, cautiously watching for any signs of unprovoked trouble. Unseen provocation anyway. Sam now knew that the trouble was usually fueled by a woman in red who went by the name of Scarlett. He wasn't so sure that Damien's information on the woman would fit the bill, as he was the AntiChrist, but Sam had to check it out. Ignoring something as crucial as this would have been a stupid move on his part. Too much was hanging in the balance. And too much had already been lost.
Despite it all, Sam still found himself trudging toward Heather's apartment. He knew that wasting time like this was definitely throwing it all to the edge, but he didn't care. If the world did end, he would easily regret not having spared a little time with the people that he cared for before it all crashed and burned. They were what mattered the most to him in the world. Nothing was going to change that. One hand gripped at his jacket, which he had shrugged off prior to entering the building, while the other clutched at a bouquet of yellow roses that he had spent hours debating on actually purchasing. The conversation about them never having really been on a date had gotten under his skin. A little. Sam wanted to be a better boyfriend. The one that took his girlfriend out and made sure that she had a good time. Not the guy who had his alternate selves burst into her apartment so that they could rape and torture her. He was different. He was better. He had to be.
Throwing his jacket over his shoulder, Sam raised his free arm and knocked on the door. Then he patiently waited for Heather to appear.