Who: Sam Victorio and Fletcher Charleston What: The revolution ain't what it used to be When: Monday Night Where: Roof of the Resistance Safe House in LA
The apartment building was getting smaller, she swore it was. For all they'd broken out of prison, Sam wasn't convinced that this was actually better. She had nowhere to go, and worse, nothing to do. Josia had skipped off to god knows where, yet again, and this time he'd taken Logan with him, which made Sam more uncomfortable than she'd like to admit. Now she was stuck here with nothing to do. No purpose. It wasn't that she wanted to be told what to do, far from it, but it was so much easier when someone at least suggested what to do next. She'd gotten used to CORE's goals being her own, then her only goal was escape, and then she figured... revenge? Although that was proving to be far less simple than she'd intended. That, more than anything, was pissing her off. She wanted someone to blame and some way to finish this, but there was no end in sight. There wasn't even a clear beginning.
When being inside got to be too much, she'd head up to the roof, and the others had taken to doing the same thing. It was the agreed upon common space. A meeting room, a place to try to relax. That's where Sam was now, hoping someone would show up with some problem. Something she could do, or someone she could tail. Or shoot. That probably wasn't very healthy. She was rational enough to recognize that, but not rational enough to care anymore. While she waited, she paced, crossing the flat rooftop with absurd determination, then whipping around and stalking back. Watching her it wouldn't be so hard to imagine that she might really have some feline DNA; she resembled nothing so much as a caged tigress, restless, wild, and just biding her time until she got a chance to turn on her keepers. It also looked like she might leap off the roof and start running at any second. The thought had definitely crossed her mind.