Sam Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
st_andingtall) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
strangetrip2017-01-30 11:34 pm
st_andingtall) wrote in strangetrip2017-01-30 11:34 pm
Entry tags:
[EP] What a nice surprise
"Eugene Thompson," repeated the Innkeeper, when Sam finally broke down and stopped searching for the wheelchair guy to ask. "One moment, please. Do you need any--"
"No. I have plenty of towels." What the heck was it with the towels, anyway? Sam shifted his weight to his other foot and tried not to screw up his face too much. The guy was just doing his job. Even if that was literally all he could do. "Um, but thanks."
"You're welcome." The Innkeeper did something that was probably smile, but Sam couldn't have described it, or his face for the life of him. "Ah, yes." He tapped a finger against the rounded black monitor screen that was as almost as old as Sam. "Mr. Thompson has checked out."
"Huh?" Sam's felt the surprise overtake his face and he had to work hard to plant his hands at the edge of the counter instead of reaching across to grab the guy by the collar. "I thought you said we couldn't leave."
"That is correct."
"But Flash--"
"Flash Thompson has checked out."
"How does that even make--" Never mind. The lyrics of Hotel California came to him. "So, you're saying he's dead and I should look for his ghost?"
"I have no record of His Ghost."
Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Okay, yeah. Thanks."
After he'd stalked away from the front desk, Sam dropped into one of the round red leather booths in the Copper Cafe and pulled out his cell...which was absolutely fucking useless and he still forgot half the time. "Great. The Innkeeper's useless. Flash has 'checked out'. And I can't text anyone to tell them about it."
Oh yeah. Life in the days before instantaneous communication sucked. And blew.
"No. I have plenty of towels." What the heck was it with the towels, anyway? Sam shifted his weight to his other foot and tried not to screw up his face too much. The guy was just doing his job. Even if that was literally all he could do. "Um, but thanks."
"You're welcome." The Innkeeper did something that was probably smile, but Sam couldn't have described it, or his face for the life of him. "Ah, yes." He tapped a finger against the rounded black monitor screen that was as almost as old as Sam. "Mr. Thompson has checked out."
"Huh?" Sam's felt the surprise overtake his face and he had to work hard to plant his hands at the edge of the counter instead of reaching across to grab the guy by the collar. "I thought you said we couldn't leave."
"That is correct."
"But Flash--"
"Flash Thompson has checked out."
"How does that even make--" Never mind. The lyrics of Hotel California came to him. "So, you're saying he's dead and I should look for his ghost?"
"I have no record of His Ghost."
Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Okay, yeah. Thanks."
After he'd stalked away from the front desk, Sam dropped into one of the round red leather booths in the Copper Cafe and pulled out his cell...which was absolutely fucking useless and he still forgot half the time. "Great. The Innkeeper's useless. Flash has 'checked out'. And I can't text anyone to tell them about it."
Oh yeah. Life in the days before instantaneous communication sucked. And blew.
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"May all your wishes come true." But only with one thousand cranes.