jigsaw || sam & mary beth
☽ - it’s further out than he usually goes...
but 6 months of solid work had the centre of town pretty much warded to the hilt. every building within three blocks of the hotel, and more than a few further out. safe houses, places to run, to duck into should anything ‘untoward’ come slithering in to lawrence.
though ‘untoward’ could be -- just about anything... and they couldn’t ward against - everything. hence - what had come to be an almost regular ‘patrol’ of sorts.
still weird. not ‘good weird’. to have all of those things thought unreal brought into the stark light of day ( or often enough, skulking around at night ). weird to not have to - pretend - anymore... to be something other than he really was. no suit or costume donned. no fake ids. no excuses... ( he’d like to say ‘no lies’ but they were still there - just a slightly different flavour of lie settling on his tongue. not a lie about who he was, so much as things which would do more harm than help - more wound than heal... things he was... ‘dealing with’ ).
he’d also like to say that the scratched ward on the little white picket fence up ahead was something he’d scratched onto the post - but nope. and not deans handiwork either by the looks of things...
...someone, or something who’d been here had known enough about what was out there to try to keep themselves safe. and it was... not bad. basic, functional... maybe even enough to make sure that whoever that protection was for - was still alive? and possibly sane - or sane enough to make a valid attempt.
the latch on the gate is flipped, a small creak of hinge to push it open - and it’s - quaint? is that the word? a lone building with a small garden - it looked like the world around it hadn’t fallen to pieces. then again, he’s walked into more ‘inert’ looking places before and found a lot worse than ‘mom’s freshly baked apple pie’ waiting for him on the other side of a ‘non-ominous’ portal...
wary of being picked off by a resident from any of the windows - ( and he can’t help but wonder if there are salt lines along the inside ) - who might mistake him as having less than altruistic motives. paranoia was a pretty healthy thing sometimes - and deadly at others...
...so he’s not going to hang around at the door - over exposed... tries the handle and pushes... it feels - locked... but only resists for a moment, a grumble of metal on metal before it gives completely - maybe been busted open at some point...
“hey!? hello? anyone in here? hello? ...my name is sam - i’m...”
hoping that you won’t attempt to kill me on sight? wondering how you know how to make wards? kinda morbidly curious as to what the hell is going on?
“...i’m from town - i was close by and saw the markings... are you... are you okay in there? hello?”