mocha  hues  roll  dramatically,  a  sigh  breaking  out  of  ruby  lips.  ❝  you  know  what?  you  are  incredibly  annoying.  show  some  respect.  in  case  you’ve  forgotten,  i  pulled  this  off  alone  last  time.  ❞

@forumd​ said : RESTRICTED - for both muses to sneak into someplace they’re not supposed to be. ➵ sam carpenter 

         𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 on top of the metal desk paints sam’s face bloody as she leans down to run a hand under the drawers, searching for a key. and you can tell –– despite the way this role fits comfortably, like an old pair of worn jeans –– that she doesn’t do this often because her fingers are bared, leaving smudges everywhere she touches. it’s amateur, but she’s left her bad girl days behind. at least, she’d hoped to. but then people started dying, so –– here she is, in the hospital’s record room, looking for a key to a file on her dad. with amber fucking freeman. 

     mocha  hues  are  glued  to  the  television,  swapping  channels  at  the  speed  of  light  because  she  cannot  find  anything  interesting  to  watch.  well,  not  to  her  taste,  at  least.  after  going  through  every  channel  twice,  tara  lets  out  a  frustrated  groan.  ❝  god,  i  am  so  fucking  bored.  ❞  she  announced,  gaze  drifting  to  amber.  ❝  please  tell  me  you  brought  us  something  fun  to  do.  because  this  hospital’s  cable  tv  is  not  it.  ❞

oh, the irony of amber’s words is befitting a stab movie ... silently, sam holds up a familiar, pale mask with her shaky wrist. it’s not fear coursing through her veins, but adrenaline — so close to catching this motherfucking bastard, yet he escapes ... 

whoever this asshole is, however, he’s left the mystery gang a minor clue.

samantha’s plan of getting along with amber has gone ... sourly. every offer she’s extended, every explanation or apology or even just a crumb of sympathy for the difficult position amber’s been put into has been batted away, like a cat looking to cause mischief. 

it’s a pain in the fucking ass is what it is, and eventually, sam's had enough. she snaps — the exact words she uses are fuzzy ... something about, being more concerned about being up sam’s ass than finding the killer. 

it’s not a proud moment, but before sam's allowed to muster an apology, she’s interrupted. her expectations of a scathing quip are toppled by a confession that, admittedly, rattles her.

“... i never knew that.”  granted, amber has given no indication that she’s ever felt anything for sam but disapproval — how the fuck was she supposed to pull that one out of her ass?

“wait,”  it’s muttered without filter or regard; sam’s currently staring out the window of the meeks-martin’s front door. dewey’s pulled into the driveway, but he’s yet to come out of his far ... sam won’t be surprised if he changes his mind and drives off, but the former sheriff makes the choice not to disappoint and emerges from his car. 

sam exhales a quiet gasp of satisfaction and turns to amber,  “we’re gonna want everyone here for this. especially him,”  she juts her thumb behind.  “why don’t you wait in the living room, okay? i’ll be right there —“  sam consciously softens her expression.