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Samantha Carrington was half awake when the knocking came. To her hungover mind it sounded like a symphony of drums, banging away until the sound became much to loud and imposing to ignore. Sam, in an effort to keep her head from literally splitting, attempted to drown out the noise by shoving her head under her pillow and groaning, but when she realized the knocking was not going to cease anytime soon she slowly stood up from the couch she had been lounging on. Stumbling towards the pale-wooded entrance way slowly, Sam dug through her mind lazily, attempting to pull out some harsh words to spit at whomever was bothering her, but in the end she merely opened the door and sent a freezing glare their way. The person stared up at her with upturned eyes, tugging at the collar of their uniform. It was a worker, one she normally saw around the front desk at the bottom of her apartment complex, and they nervously held forth a rather large package and letter.

[b]”For you, Ms. Carrington.”[/b] The attendant said chirpily, young face revealing their anxious mental state. Sam glanced down at the items being held out to her, one eyebrow quirking curiously, and then in a raspy voice she asked,

“From who?” The attendant shrugged in response, shaking his head as if to say ‘I don’t know’ and Sam snatched up both the box and letter quickly, snorting at the worker’s apparent uselessness. She nodded once, perhaps an attempt at showing thanks, and then she slammed the door shut with her right foot. Glancing down at the two items now in her possession, she maneuver her free hand to turn the letter over, and instantly her complexion paled. There, where the envelop sealed, was that all too familiar crest, stamped onto the paper in a bright red wax. Her body seemed to numb, her blood ran cold, and she stiffly made her way over to a messy, glass dining room table. Shoving aside the empty beer cans and art supplies, Sam gently laid the items onto the surface and first turned towards the letter. Using her longer fingernails she picked away the wax, her hands trembling ever so slightly, and once the envelope was open she peered inside and blinked accordingly.

Tickets, two of them, and letters were inside. She pulled out the tickets first, gazing at them with suspicion clear on her face, and once she felt satisfied with them she turned to the remaining two letters. She pulled out the first one, squinting to focus on the words as her still hungover mind was forcing her to see double. She felt a dark air settle around her at the mention of searching for an heir, and she carelessly let the first letter drop onto the table before turning to the other one. Now, this letter seemed much more personal, in fact, it was all about her. Sam grimaced at first, but eventually her heart swelled with nostalgia and guilt, and tears threatened to spill already. However, the stubborn Samantha Carrington lifted her head quickly, using the back of her hand to rub away whatever sadness she felt. Eventually, she let that letter fall, and her attention turned to the box. 

It was big, big enough to hold a nice picture frame, and again the seal of the Carrington family marked the outside. She took a moment to stumble into the kitchen, grabbing a small, sharp knife, and with it she dug into the package and opened it with ease. At the sight of the painting inside, however, she felt her hands tremble, and the tears she had attempted to wipe away fell freely. It was an old piece, so, so old, maybe one of the first things she had painted. Every stroke was ametur, young, but still Sam couldn’t help but smile at how proud she felt when she first made it. Slowly, shakily, she lifted it from the box and moved it aside, finding another ift below. A book set, Vincent Van Gogh’s letters and writings. Sam felt a smile tug at her lips, but she shook it away and turned to stare at the last few remaining items; a bag of cookies, candles, and a smaller picture frame. Sam sighed, inspecting all the items once more in an attempt to find some kind of prank note, anything to prove to her that this wasn’t just a drunken joke, but eventually she gave up and slid to the floor, holding her head carelessly in her lap.

“Vacation…. Huh?” She muttered groggily. The idea of a vacation hadn’t passed through her mind since her last marriage, and the idea of her [i]family[/i] being there was just a notion that never came to be. But… Maybe it was time, right? Time to apologize. Sam felt her jaw tighten, teeth clenched in an angry manner. Was she really ready to see them, apologize, and then continue on with life? Could she do it all alone? Glancing up from beneath the table, she focused on the two tickets again, and instantly a familiar face filled her head. Jesse. She pulled herself up slowly, moving clumsily towards the kitchen again. Her hand wrapped around the base of her cordless phone, and she dialed in the familiar number quickly.
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It was early when her phone started buzzing, the sound of ABBA blaring through the tinny speaker. Jesse figured it was no later than 8AM, and while she normally would have been up and ready if it wasn’t the weekend, today was to be her only rest in a whole week. She had good intention of staying indoors – in bed – for the majority of the morning, and maybe even some of the afternoon. Then she might have taken her dog for a walk, might have said ‘Howdy,’ to her neighbors and fed some apples to their horses, and hell, she she might have even gone into town for the rest of the day.

But no, her phone rang, and that meant either one of two things. She was on call (what deputy ever wasn’t?) so it could have been the department requiring her assistance, usually because of someone flaking out or getting shot on duty.

Or.

Or it could have been Sam.

Pale blue light filtered in through the floral curtains, the clouds outside surprisingly dark and thick. Ominous. Jesse pulled herself up to sit at the edge of the bed, and afterwards reached for her several years out-of-date cellphone. Not bothering to glance at the Caller ID, she answered it with a brusque, “Hello?”

“Jesse?” The voice was hoarse and tired. Obviously Sam’s, but instead of having its usual harsh edge she sounded a bit more somber, sad. It tugged at Jesse’s heartstrings, as always, and she ran a tired hand through her hair as she stood up and wandered into the kitchen for a better signal in the middle of pastoral America.

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s up? It’s early for a phone call,” Jesse noted, before shaking her head and hastily continuing, “Not that I was doing anything.” Who needs sleep anyway? She could sleep when she was dead: Sam was more important.

“Sorry, sorry for bothering you but, ah,” There was a shuffling over the speaker, as if she was settling down somewhere, “I got a package from them. My parents, Jesse. They sent me a package.” Sam’s voice sounded panicked, maybe even a bit shrill, as if receiving mail from her parents was some kind of supernatural event.

[i]When have you ever bothered me?[/i] Jesse felt like saying that, but her mouth thinned into a pale, bloodless line. “Sam, calm down,” she said mildly, and probably unhelpfully, but it was the least she could do when on the other side of the goddamn country from her friend. Samantha Carrington’s relationship with her parents had always been something Jesse couldn’t understand completely, not when her Dad had been a hero and her mother non-existent, but from the sound of them they were awful, awful people – she’d made her own opinions up on them, no matter how Sam tried to exalt them and blame the bad blood between them all on herself. “What’s [i]in[/i] the package, and why are you all worked up over it?”

At this point, Jesse was half-expecting some body part like a cut-off ear, if only to emphasise the Carrington’s role as supervillains.

“... Tickets. They’ve invited me to a family reunion featuring a trip across Europe. So, tickets, a few letters, and, uh.” Sam was silent for a moment or two, as if she were thinking of what to say, “gifts. Just, little gifts. Weird things.”

“Huh,” Jesse said helpfully, and had a quiet moment of her own as she wondered what to say. She’d never been big on words, and especially not asking questions or answering them. She saw no real need to ask what the letters said, or what the presents actually were, because presumably the next time she booked a flight out to New York, she’d learn all that anyway. That left one pressing issue: “It sounds like they’re trying to, uh, reconnect. Maybe. Are you thinking ‘bout going?”

“Yes, but I… I can’t do it alone, ya know?” Sam laughed in her low, hearty way, and then quickly sighed and continued on, “I want you to come with me, Jesse. There’s two tickets, everything is paid for, and if you’re there I know I can handle it.” 

Didn’t that just warm her heart right up?

Jesse ran a hand down her face, and though she didn’t intend to leave Samantha hanging for so long, she paused to drink some orange juice straight from the bottle – wishing fervently all the while that it was scotch. “Yeah, yeah alright. Let me make some phone calls; I’ll take a leave of absence. But I’m warning you – I’m bringing my best Brooklyn accent to scandalize your parents.” Another pause. “And maybe my gun.”

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The warmth outside was only rivalled by the heat of Sam’s face. She was bright red, sweating, and nervous, ultimately unprepared to face her parents after almost thirty years of being estranged. Around the two women was a crowd, the usual scene of an airport during the holidays, and Sam held Jesse’s hand in a vice grip in order to both keep herself calm to keep her friend from getting pulled away in the stream of people. She moved with a purpose, her face cold and void of emotion (save for her bright cheeks), but her grip of Jesse was mixed with sweat and tremors. Samantha Carrington, for once, was both sober and anxious.

Jesse’s free hand was dragging Sam’s case, which was far heavier than her own – hence why they had swapped. It was difficult for her to be nervous in any way about the trip, especially since it wasn’t her own family, so she resolved herself to be a steely source of strength for Sam as she marched them through the airport to where they were going, following the confusing signs. “Relax,” she said to her. “It’s going to be [i]fine[/i].”

Jesse didn’t quite believe what she was telling her friend.

“So, I figure we’re not travelling Economy,” Jesse guessed. “What plane are we going to, now?”

“Mommy and daddy’s private jet.” Sam said, a bit of spite creeping into her voice. Very soon, Sam lead them away from the crowd and towards the private terminal. This space was much less crowded, infact it was practically empty, and Sam felt a bit of discomfort from the sudden lack of noise. They continued on however, Sam at times sighing or coughing to form some kind of noise to fill the air. Soon enough the jet was insight, and Sam froze to collect her thoughts, turning to stare at Jesse with her usually cold, green eyes.

“I don’t know what they’re going to be like, I don’t know if they’ll like you or not, just,” She sighed, shaking her head slowly, some flyaways escaping from the tight bun on the back of her head, “don’t scare them or anything, try and act as natural as possible.” Sam wondered briefly if she should follow her own advice, and a slight grimace took up her expression.

“I’m always natural,” Jesse complained without heat, a shrug tacked on to the end. She was expecting as much, being the working class plus one of a Carrington, and hadn’t been kidding about scandalizing Sam’s parents. The corners of her lips quirked up in a grim smile as she thought of one other possible issue. “You might wanna think quickly ‘bout what you’re gonna introduce me as, Sammy.” Sam pouted, and then she gave a small chuckle and the two continued on towards the plane.

Eventually they were staring up at the figures just atop the jet’s stairs. Sam matched her mother’s distant, emotionless face, but her grip tightened around Jesse’s hand, and with a slight nod of the hand she began.

“Good morning, mom, dad.” She greeted tightly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “hope you’ve been well, ah.” She motioned awkwardly towards Jesse, already having trouble finding her words, “this is Jesse my, er, friend. Girl, girlfriend. Yeah.” Her cheeks deepened in color, embarrassment seeping into her mind, and she glanced at the floor quietly. Hopefully the jet was stocked with alcohol, Sam was craving a drink.

“Nice to meet you,” Jesse said with a slightly smoother drawl – a strange mixture of the South and Brooklyn, but mostly the latter. Christ, she must’ve been nervous for that to happen. She managed what she hoped was a charming grin, smoothing down her shirt like a prom date. “Long-term friends, but the girlfriend thing’s a bit new hence the, uh, hesitation.”

[i]Too new.[/i]