Sam started off the morning the same way she started every morning. Awake at the shift change and in the office of the first floor. The next scavenging trip would be beginning in less than a week and they were getting together a list of things to keep a particular look out for. Clothes were a big one, particularly with winter fast approaching.
Her morning meeting with Dorian was brief. Nothing had changed since they last spoke; the pipe was still burst and wouldn’t be fixed until sometime the following day. For some reason no one had come to the blonde with their complaints about the lack of a shower for a few days. Instead all the dissatisfaction had been directed toward Dorian. She felt bad knowing her inability (read: unwillingness) to put on a friendly face was weighing on him and his ability to be a father. He had a daughter to care for as well as the camp, and she should be taking more off his plate. She would vow to work on her promise to become more… approachable. The blonde grumped and the old man teased and their meeting was ended with her handing over the list to give to Marcus and practically shoving her father figure out the doorway. She was laughing, too, but it quickly died when someone in the hall heard and looked over curiously. Laughter had been reserved for Olivia only, and then Dorian and Emilia.
When she went to the dining room later that morning Samantha had started for her usual spot, a small table that usually only allowed room for the only two people she’d allow to sit with her, but upon remembering her promise to the old man, she hesitated and ended up standing awkwardly before turning and finding a large six person table to sit at. It was a cowardly move but she chose to sit next to two teenagers. There were three seats remaining and Sam would be sure to reserve those for Dorian and Emilia, leaving one seat available for the taking. “Morning, Holly. Emily.” The sour-faced blonde would greet while attempting less sour in her face.
Holly looked up from an old battered book--the only word Sam caught of the title was Cookbook--and exchanged a glance with Emily. “Uh, morning. Sam...antha?” The brunette greeted. She had never really had a conversation with Sam except for when she joined the community and that had been a lot of explaining of the rules and… a demand that she work for the food she’s fed. She found the blonde intimidating and was surprised that Sam even remembered her name.
Sam remembered everyone’s names, she just preferred for the only conversation with the members of her community be about the needs of the Hotel and that was it. The blonde peered down at her oatmeal and wished desperately that she had not agreed to being ‘nicer’. She felt uncomfortable.
Andrea had staked a claim to chairs at one of the tables; her boots were propped up in one and she sat in the other. Sometimes she sat alone, other times she sat with a few different people here and there never sticking with the same people, occasionally she sat with Emeril, but only when she was looking to get in on a betting pool. Today was she was sitting alone, but she’d grabbed a second chair on the off chance that Marcus decided to join her for breakfast as he had joined her for dinner the night before. She thought (read: hoped) he might, but Andrea had brought down her incomplete copy of Stephen King’s Misery, just in case.
Her morning meeting with Dorian was brief. Nothing had changed since they last spoke; the pipe was still burst and wouldn’t be fixed until sometime the following day. For some reason no one had come to the blonde with their complaints about the lack of a shower for a few days. Instead all the dissatisfaction had been directed toward Dorian. She felt bad knowing her inability (read: unwillingness) to put on a friendly face was weighing on him and his ability to be a father. He had a daughter to care for as well as the camp, and she should be taking more off his plate. She would vow to work on her promise to become more… approachable. The blonde grumped and the old man teased and their meeting was ended with her handing over the list to give to Marcus and practically shoving her father figure out the doorway. She was laughing, too, but it quickly died when someone in the hall heard and looked over curiously. Laughter had been reserved for Olivia only, and then Dorian and Emilia.
When she went to the dining room later that morning Samantha had started for her usual spot, a small table that usually only allowed room for the only two people she’d allow to sit with her, but upon remembering her promise to the old man, she hesitated and ended up standing awkwardly before turning and finding a large six person table to sit at. It was a cowardly move but she chose to sit next to two teenagers. There were three seats remaining and Sam would be sure to reserve those for Dorian and Emilia, leaving one seat available for the taking. “Morning, Holly. Emily.” The sour-faced blonde would greet while attempting less sour in her face.
Holly looked up from an old battered book--the only word Sam caught of the title was Cookbook--and exchanged a glance with Emily. “Uh, morning. Sam...antha?” The brunette greeted. She had never really had a conversation with Sam except for when she joined the community and that had been a lot of explaining of the rules and… a demand that she work for the food she’s fed. She found the blonde intimidating and was surprised that Sam even remembered her name.
Sam remembered everyone’s names, she just preferred for the only conversation with the members of her community be about the needs of the Hotel and that was it. The blonde peered down at her oatmeal and wished desperately that she had not agreed to being ‘nicer’. She felt uncomfortable.
Andrea had staked a claim to chairs at one of the tables; her boots were propped up in one and she sat in the other. Sometimes she sat alone, other times she sat with a few different people here and there never sticking with the same people, occasionally she sat with Emeril, but only when she was looking to get in on a betting pool. Today was she was sitting alone, but she’d grabbed a second chair on the off chance that Marcus decided to join her for breakfast as he had joined her for dinner the night before. She thought (read: hoped) he might, but Andrea had brought down her incomplete copy of Stephen King’s Misery, just in case.
Last edited: