If you really, really wannakah/Have a happy, happy, happy, happy Hanukkah [OPEN]

[thegreatexperiment]

WHO: Samantha Moon
WHERE: Various parts of the Inn
WHEN: December 2-10
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: Standard language warnings for Sam; nudity and sexy in thread with Danny

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Sam had many talents, but tracking the lunar calendar wasn't necessarily one on her resume. Nevertheless, it was December and she decided that meant Hanukkah was on the way. Her second one in the fucking clown rodeo. Something like her fifth or sixth since dying. Which was just depressing as all hell. As if she needed something else depressing to weigh on her mind.

Last year, she'd cobbled together a menorah out of bolts and spare wires and broken bottle necks. It looked steampunk as hell, but when she managed to pull together enough candles to light the thing up, she had to admit, it was kind of cheery. It was about as out-of-place as they all were, trapped in this Skinner Box of doom, so in that sense, it was perfectly at home. So she lit it every night in the common area of the Inn, on the window ledge.

Ba-ruch A-tah Ado-nai
E-lo-he-nu Me-lech ha-olam
Something, something
Something
Soooomething
Something, something
Le-had-lik ner
Shel Cha-nu-kah.

Okay, so she didn't remember all the words. It was the thought that counted, right? Sure. Why not.

When she wasn't lighting the candles, she sometimes slipped into the kitchen. The year before, Erik had taught her a recipe for latkes. She remembered most of the basics and tried her hand at it a few times. Not that she could fucking eat any of them, but after the first couple of failed batches, they started to smell pretty amazing. And she left them out on a plate for anyone who came by.

And feeling particularly in the holiday spirit, she set herself up at her favorite table in the corner, with her box of colored pencils. She'd saved scraps of paper where she could, stealing napkins, starched fabric, and what remained of the book Jude had put together for her. On one of the napkins, she wrote "Free Portraits." Back home, she'd done some unofficial work as a police sketch artist. They didn't have photographs of the people they'd left behind. But she could do pretty good approximations. She'd hung up one of her sketches of Avery as an example.

Comments

[freightcars]

He doesn't stumble upon it until the second day, and when he does it brings him up short. Sam might wander in to find him standing, hands tucked into his jogger pockets, lips pressed into a thin line, staring contemplatively at her menorah.

His mom stopped celebrating Hanukkah after his bubbe died. After that, it was Catholic Christmas every year and not another word about it. Looking at this is like a hit to the heart, rocketing him farther back on his timeline than he's gone in a long time, to being six years old on the cold wooden floor listening to the story for the third time that season.

It's... something.

[theimmortalweapon]

Danny had come to the inn to see Sam and was pleasantly surprised to find her making use of the inn's kitchen. He honestly hadn't known that she knew how to cook, she didn't exactly need to eat, but she was constantly surprising him. He stood leaning against the door frame watching her before clearing his throat to make his presence known.

"What are you making?"

He was wearing his monk robes as usual though his chest was covered today. There was a warm look in his eyes though his smile was lightly subdued. He was happy to see her like this and would be perfectly content to continue watching her make... whatever it was she was making.

It smelled good and his stomach growled.

"You don't have to stop." He added quick when she looked up and found him watching her.