Bought a ticket for a runaway train...like a madman laughing at the rain...

[thegreatexperiment]

WHO: Samantha Moon and a bolt of nearby lightning
WHERE: Out and about in the village; then later at the Inn
WHEN: July 1 for first thread; July 2-5 for subsequent threads (just pick the day you want)
OPEN TO: Village thread closed to Mulcahy and Aragorn (#padranger); Inn is OTA
WARNINGS: Foul language (because it's Sam); PTSD; blood; talk of death and vampirisim; will update as needed

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On the Edge of the Village (for #padranger)
( A little out of touch, a little insane...it's just easier than dealing with the pain... (tl;dr) )

Back at the Inn (OTA)
In the days that followed Sam's unfortunate encounter with the lightning, she got a little bit better at keeping the past and the present separate. The days were a little easier than the nights. For obvious contextual reasons. But Sam refused to sleep. Her nightmares had always been pretty fucking awful before. She couldn't even begin to comprehend what they would become now. She'd long ago given up on the concept of 'it can't get any worse.' It could always, always get worse.

For one thing, you could get struck by lightning.

It helped to be around other people. Even if Sam wasn't exactly good at interacting with them. So she tried to stay in the common areas of the Inn as much as she could. Usually tucked into her corner table, writing names on some of the napkins she'd stolen from the crab boil. Names like Avery and Grace and Evening Star on the one side. And then names like Aragorn and Jean-Luc and Francis on the other. Separate. The past and the present. Not touching, not interacting. Two different paper islands, drifting past one another in the sea of time.

Or whatever.

Her bobby pins had left incredible burns on her forehead and temples--and even worse ones on her scalp--so she wasn't wearing her wig. Instead, she had a dark, black kerchief covering her hair. She'd cut it out of an old pair of scrubs. She thought she looked like one of the devout, little old ladies from the synagogue. The ones she and Anne used to roll their eyes at, during the High Holiday services, grimacing at the very idea. They'd probably never been struck by lightning, but Sam could finally understand the utility of their fashion.