Libraries are for books and for knowing things
Who: Anita and Sam, possibly Dean
Where The library
When: A few days after the event
Rating: PG13 to R, likely for language
Summary: A research session is in order
the Story:
Anita ran a hand through her damp hair and wondered which shirt would pose the least amount of pain when applied to bare skin. Having the house remaking itself into her bedroom was nice, in a way, but it was also damn creepy. For the thousandth time in the past few days, Anita gave herself a mental pat on the back for not shooting up the walls in an effort to relieve tension. Deciding on a dark red tank-top, Anita managed, after a few choice swear words, to get it on. The jeans posed more problems, as the ragged claw marks on her back had far to heal, and bending over wasn't doing them any good. Still, when she shoved her beloved gun into her pants, she couldn't help a grim smile.
There was nothing like being in a fight that made you really appreciate a Browning. A gun made a useful security blanket, in a pinch, and though it had been useless against those monsters, it still made Anita smile. With a perfunctory nod, she left her room and headed for the library. Her reflection in a hallway mirror made her flinch and pause; damn, but this time had been close. The shadow monsters had torn her up enthusiastically from elbow to just above collarbone, and her skimpy shirt, though relatively pain free, did little to hide her bandages. At least her hair hid her back somewhat. Briefly, she considered returning to her room to change into a shirt that didn't display how close of a call it had been, but she decided that if he couldn't deal with it, well then fuck him.
Even in her somewhat frazzled mood, Anita couldn't help a whispered 'wow' when she entered the library. This place was like something out of a novel - if there weren't answers to the puzzle of their predicament here, then answers hadn't been written yet.
Where The library
When: A few days after the event
Rating: PG13 to R, likely for language
Summary: A research session is in order
the Story:
Anita ran a hand through her damp hair and wondered which shirt would pose the least amount of pain when applied to bare skin. Having the house remaking itself into her bedroom was nice, in a way, but it was also damn creepy. For the thousandth time in the past few days, Anita gave herself a mental pat on the back for not shooting up the walls in an effort to relieve tension. Deciding on a dark red tank-top, Anita managed, after a few choice swear words, to get it on. The jeans posed more problems, as the ragged claw marks on her back had far to heal, and bending over wasn't doing them any good. Still, when she shoved her beloved gun into her pants, she couldn't help a grim smile.
There was nothing like being in a fight that made you really appreciate a Browning. A gun made a useful security blanket, in a pinch, and though it had been useless against those monsters, it still made Anita smile. With a perfunctory nod, she left her room and headed for the library. Her reflection in a hallway mirror made her flinch and pause; damn, but this time had been close. The shadow monsters had torn her up enthusiastically from elbow to just above collarbone, and her skimpy shirt, though relatively pain free, did little to hide her bandages. At least her hair hid her back somewhat. Briefly, she considered returning to her room to change into a shirt that didn't display how close of a call it had been, but she decided that if he couldn't deal with it, well then fuck him.
Even in her somewhat frazzled mood, Anita couldn't help a whispered 'wow' when she entered the library. This place was like something out of a novel - if there weren't answers to the puzzle of their predicament here, then answers hadn't been written yet.