checkin | video

[The few days it's taken to adjust have been, well - Sam is not going to use the word 'Hell' because he's actually been, and this is crappy but it doesn't come close. Still, anyone who hasn't seen him yet might be a little alarmed at what's being broadcast: six feet and four inches of sickly sasquatch, valiantly trying to address the network, appallingly pale, sallow-faced and bloodshot-sunken-eyed.]

Hey. Uh - Sam. I'm new. I guess this is a, uh, a thing that, that people do. Is introduce themselves. And I get that - we're all looking for a way out.

[Auspicious beginnings. Who knows if anyone's even getting this? Nevertheless, he continues.]

Okay. So. No promises, but there's something I can try. Kinda like a ward, or a spell. [Magic exists, surprise. The few people he's already talked to have expressed a kind of varied interest in this sort of thing, so caution be damned.] Anyone wants to help, I'll need a couple things.

First is - salt. Table salt, any kind will do. Second? Matches, a lighter, anything that can make sparks, even for a few seconds. And then I'll need something to write with, marker, pen, spray paint - I don't care. Anything along those lines.

[He looks at something off-screen, mouth briefly twisting in what might best be categorized as 'disgust'.]

I have food to trade for it. Heard that's kind of a limited resource these days. Food and, uh. [He squints at something.] Neosporin. If anyone, y'know, needs that.

[Yeah, he doesn't get it either. He jerks off frame for a moment, face buried in his elbow. It's not enough to fully stifle the ragged, fierce coughs that leave his shoulders shuddering. Finally, signs of life trickle back through the feed, albeit muffled and with their subject mostly lurched off camera as he mutters in his more characteristic deadpan, wearily sardonic, 'so-done-with-this-shit' tone.]

Also. If anyone happens to have some aspirin on them, that'd be great.

[There's the rattling of trembling, uncoordinated fingertips trying to navigate the tablet, and the feed snaps off.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And on the 'get the hell out' respect. Far as I can tell, no one's really jazzed about being here.

Kidnapped away from our friends and families when we had far more important stuff going on? I wouldn't bet on it.

[Family and friends and the minor problem where all the angels were falling and it may or may not have been the Winchesters' collective fault. Among other things.]

Well, hopefully a spell'll do something. [Buuuut his fingers aren't crossed. They aren't usually, because he's not always a fingers-crossed person, but if he was! ...they still wouldn't be crossed.]

Hopefully. And hopefully it'll do something that doesn't involve demons or other potentially awful things.

[ Even though that would apparently just be another Tuesday at this hotel. ]

[DEMONS HMM. SO ABOUT THAT]

I'll - try to keep that to a minimum, yeah.

[ OH, THIS OUGHTA BE GOOD. ]

Let me know how it goes.

I'll let you know.

[Not that he's all that optimistic. Literal Archangel Gabriel couldn't break out, and he's Literal Archangel Gabriel. But whatever - he's gonna try either way.]

Thanks. And in the meantime, take care of yourself.

[ Because, again. You look like actual death. ]

[True, except Actual Death had slightly shorter hair and a cane and at least 5000% more swagger.]

I'll try. You too.

[Except unlike him, she seems to be doing just that.]

[ ~~Too bad he'll never cut his hair.~~ ]

Sure thing.

[ And with a small smile, she ends the feed. ]

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