Sam drove longer than she should've, hoping for some glimpse, some sign, something, even as she knew the odds were slim---at best. Eventually, she pulled over, and marked in her phone exactly where she'd been when Noemi was forced from her...and her anchor. A quick check proved the paperweight was still safe in her bag, as it had been, and apparently unaltered; that was one plus, in the face of such an inexplicable loss.
What the fuck had that been?! Sam didn't know; she had no answers; what she had, instead, was a next step... and a next stop: liquor store. It would've sounded suspect, but she needed a bottle of red wine for ritual reasons. The next step was seeing if she could or couldn't contact someone else who was aware of whatever-it-was and considered it a problem, and to do that, she'd need the wine, four phone books, her own phone, the right room, and a few minutes to do the rite right. The phone books were the biggest problem; she had a stack stashed at home, but it would be a long drive and she didn't want to wait that long. Finding one in-town, and hitting the nearest three until she could snatch up enough? Also a pain in the ass, but more agreeable, since the busywork of gathering components was more tolerable than trying to rush back to Porcupine River without being ticketed. The hotel room itself didn't fit the requirements, but its bathroom did; she could do the phone rite there.
Three hours after deciding her course of action, Sam---tired, worried, frustrated, and not knowing what she should expect---did. The ritual itself was simple, once it was set up; drink the wine, spin the bottle, take numbers from the helpline pages the phonebooks standing in the corners of the corners of the room had been propped open to show, adding her particular problem through the numbers corresponding to the letters: S P I R I T S N A T C H I N G M Y S T E R Y E N T I T Y I N S O U T H Q U E B E C
no subject
What the fuck had that been?! Sam didn't know; she had no answers; what she had, instead, was a next step... and a next stop: liquor store. It would've sounded suspect, but she needed a bottle of red wine for ritual reasons. The next step was seeing if she could or couldn't contact someone else who was aware of whatever-it-was and considered it a problem, and to do that, she'd need the wine, four phone books, her own phone, the right room, and a few minutes to do the rite right. The phone books were the biggest problem; she had a stack stashed at home, but it would be a long drive and she didn't want to wait that long. Finding one in-town, and hitting the nearest three until she could snatch up enough? Also a pain in the ass, but more agreeable, since the busywork of gathering components was more tolerable than trying to rush back to Porcupine River without being ticketed. The hotel room itself didn't fit the requirements, but its bathroom did; she could do the phone rite there.
Three hours after deciding her course of action, Sam---tired, worried, frustrated, and not knowing what she should expect---did. The ritual itself was simple, once it was set up; drink the wine, spin the bottle, take numbers from the helpline pages the phonebooks standing in the corners of the corners of the room had been propped open to show, adding her particular problem through the numbers corresponding to the letters: S P I R I T S N A T C H I N G M Y S T E R Y E N T I T Y I N S O U T H Q U E B E C