44 Blueberry Hill, Front Porch, Wednesday Afternoon
Sam was blissfully unaware of any and all dragging through the mud of his name that might have gone on earlier in the day at the school by any of the students. He'd had a quiet day -- relatively speaking -- that had thus far consisted of a pair of trips into the city (rain be damned) to clean out the storage locker he'd had there, in the interest of getting rid of an unnecessary expense.
There wasn't much, but he had returned with a tiny U-Haul trailer about the size of a large Radio Flyer wagon hitched to the back of his bike, containing the few possessions he couldn't throw away; most of it was stuff he couldn't have shipped around the country in between his various trades without someone raising an eyebrow, like the sword he'd gotten from Parker, the summer before his senior year.
Now that the rest of the things he'd brought back had been set up or put away around the house and the U-Haul had been returned to the gas station in the city, Sam was sitting on the front porch with a pack of cigarettes, a whetstone, a polishing rag, and the aforementioned sword. It had been years since he'd actually needed it but he figured he couldn't be too careful, especially with the question of whatever had attacked Phoebe over the weekend still unanswered.
[OOC: Open -- save me from falling asleep here.]
There wasn't much, but he had returned with a tiny U-Haul trailer about the size of a large Radio Flyer wagon hitched to the back of his bike, containing the few possessions he couldn't throw away; most of it was stuff he couldn't have shipped around the country in between his various trades without someone raising an eyebrow, like the sword he'd gotten from Parker, the summer before his senior year.
Now that the rest of the things he'd brought back had been set up or put away around the house and the U-Haul had been returned to the gas station in the city, Sam was sitting on the front porch with a pack of cigarettes, a whetstone, a polishing rag, and the aforementioned sword. It had been years since he'd actually needed it but he figured he couldn't be too careful, especially with the question of whatever had attacked Phoebe over the weekend still unanswered.
[OOC: Open -- save me from falling asleep here.]