Something's not right, that much is clear. The door is locked, but the hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end. Without a second thought, he tucks his overnight bag just inside the front door and silently closes it behind him - surveying the strewn clothes and shoes. Sam, he'd know the jacket hanging off the coffee table anywhere, pants - a wrinkled pool on the floor. One female, tacky shoes - worn to death by the looks of it. Skimpy dress, but comfortable looking - so probably not a pro. But it was Sam, can't rule anything out. He smiles and draws his weapon, finger caressing the trigger guard as he makes a silent beeline for the bedroom.
He pauses just outside the door for a long moment, listening for the telltale signs that the party wasn't over yet, but only heard slow and shallow breathing - mostly asleep but not for long. With a smile, he opens the door and lowers the gun right at his friend - eyes glancing over his blonde companion. "Morning."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2011-06-22 03:20 am (UTC)He pauses just outside the door for a long moment, listening for the telltale signs that the party wasn't over yet, but only heard slow and shallow breathing - mostly asleep but not for long. With a smile, he opens the door and lowers the gun right at his friend - eyes glancing over his blonde companion. "Morning."