[center][img]http://www.lovethisgif.com/uploaded_images/3509-Winter-Snow.gif?1[/img]
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[i][u]Time:[/u] 2:30 P.M.
[u]Interacting With:[/u] Jesse Vallentine, Sly Carrington [@McHaggis], Staff
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For a career alcoholic, Samantha Carrington was surprisingly sober during the entire flight. The lovely dulling effect of vodka (or beer, or whiskey, or-) was oh-so-unpleasantly missing, unaccounted for. Untapered and sorely unforgotten. The anxiety of being able to think and see so clearly without having a canvas in front of her face to distract her boiled down to the very soul. Fingers and legs bounced, pressed hard against leather seats and carpeted floors, ticked away at plastic until she was awarded an annoyed groan from the backseat. Sam turned around briefly to shoot her son a half fiery half apologetic glare, and was once again given a groan and a hushed, ”Calm down.” As he returned his attention to the snowy wonderland outside their rental.

Sam, too, settled back into the passenger seat and turned to stare forward. New York still had a few days left of chilly pavement and sticky sidewalks before their own snowstorm hit, so she took a quick moment to catalogue how different Colorado snow seemed compared to that of the East Coast variety. Verdict: it looked cold and wet in both states, but New York snow was always just a little more sootier. Sam imagined painting a landscape like the one tumbling over before her, but she lost the inspiration easily seeing just how much white and blue paint she would have to waste just to get the color right.

Besides, landscapes were the least of her worries currently.

Sam turned over an invisible envelope in her hand. An invisible letter. Invisible words. The object that spurred a thousand wake-up calls in her hazy mind. A harsh reminder of her name and her origins. 

She hadn’t expected to get something like this from her father and mother, not for a while longer at least. Honestly, she had wondered grimly if the next time she would see either of them would be in a casket (theirs’ or her’s). Her initial response had been a guffaw of disbelief and a quick trip to her alcohol cabinet, and then the anxiety set in, and the memories, and the fears. The guilt and the sorrow and the rage. It had been overwhelming, suffocating. An onslaught of human emotions had threatened to kill her right then, and as she sat idly beside Jesse and in front of Sly, she mused over the idea of them actually striking her down.

Even now, the words burned holes into her memory. Her breath caught, and she squinted out at the blinding flurry as the letter replayed over and over in her mind. 

[i]Successful or not, you are still Carringtons. This is an opportunity –– and no, it is not a business one. It is an opportunity for us to make amends. [/i]

“Whoa, there’s like, no cars out here,” Sly said as he bravely cracked the window open, releasing the flurry of snow outside into the warm interior, an icy wind to blast Mom and Jesse in the front seats. The screen of his DS lit up the back seats and had been doing so for the entire trip thanks to a spare battery pack, but now it flickered black, power off. “A state free of my worst enemies, my arch rivals, my nemesis-es...”

“If you keep your eyes glued to that screen, you’re gonna end up needing glasses,” Jesse warned distractedly as she turned the corner to the path that led up to the Winter Lodge according to both the signposts (barely readable in the blizzard) and the GPS.

“But I already have glasses.”

“Yeah, you do. Uh, nerd.”

Flabbergasted that Aunt Jesse just called him a nerd, Sly turned his attention to the back of Sam’s head, a silent plead for help.

Sam blinked through the daze, inhaled, exhaled, and turned to give Jesse a weak smirk. “Don’t bully him, J. I’ll be forced to defend him if you make him cry.” She gave her friend a good-natured chop to the head, hoping the anxious tremors running from wrist to fingertips were translated as nothing more than chills. From behind, she heard Sly give a tiny noise of disdain, and she turned around to smile cheerily at him. Or, at least try. Her smile usually turned into grimaces whenever she was [i]this[/i] sober.

“I’m not gonna cry.” He huffed, all light and playful as usual. “Not unless someone puts [i]Dirty Dancing[/i] on because that’s the only way you’ll get me to cry. That or [i]Jaws[/i]––”

“Of course you’re not. Now- shut that window before you catch a cold. It’s fucking freezing out there.” As if to emphasis her point, Sam huffed out a sigh and watched a misty steam escape her lips. Her single raised eyebrow and knife-sharp smirk was all the incentive Sly needed, and with a huff of his own he rolled up the window and threw back an exaggerated pout.

She turned easily in her seat again, pressing deep into the seat as her fingers reached out to drag along Jesse’s wrist idly. “How much longer?” She whispered, eyes narrowing.

“Not that long,” Jesse said, and motioned to the building barely seen through the opaque grey and white that surrounded the car on all sides. Brusquely – not that the cop had ever been known for anything else in her life – she asked, “You good?”

“No.” Sam answered abruptly, and then softer yet she added, “But maybe I will be, after-- after things are cleared up a little.” She had made it very clear to her family (her, REAL family, Jesse and Sly and anyone willing to hold someone like her nowadays) that this trip was going to be a nightmare and a half. But, guilty as ever, and stubborn to boot, she pushed away her vices and fury in favor of trying to find middle ground at least. Whatever this reunion was about would merely be a cherry on top of the world’s worst sundae.

The gray and white around them fell off, and Sam blinked back a strong punch of nostalgia was suddenly the house came into view. No, not a house. This was something grander, something older. The Lodge… It really had been a long, long time. Sam couldn’t control the way she reached out to grab a handful of Jesse’s coat, nor the sudden sticky way her lungs refused to work and her breathing turned into hurried gasps. The wish for a drink burned behind her eyelids, but instead of leaping out of the car in search of one like a fool she squeezed her eyes shut and forced a chilling blue calmness to claim her mind.

Jesse brought the car to a halt at the end of the path leading up to the Winter Lodge, right where a staff-member clad in formal wear with a nose that looked half-bitten off by the frost was standing. It was only when she realised what he was waiting for – them to get out of the car – that she realised she wasn’t in small town Arizona or starving artist New York City anymore, and that he was a valet.

She kept the engine on, and stepped out of the car, hurrying around to the other side to hold open the doors for the passengers, first Sam and then her son. When Sly hauled himself out, crutches and all, there was a moment of confused panic on the part of the help –– to take the car, or to help. The man fluttered forward, before Sly waved a hand dismissively. “Yo, I’m good fam,” he said. “If I fall and break my legs it’s not like it’s gonna make much difference.”

Sam rose from her seat careful, bundling further into her coat against the cold, and she waved the valet off again without even a single glance. Resting a hand on her son’s lower back, she helped guide him over the salt-stained pavement and into the lodge, keeping one eye on Jesse to ensure her girlfriend is following.

Inside hit her harder than the outside did. Memories of running through foyers and halls and rooms welled up and stuffed her brain full of cotton. Staff stood in numbers now, though, more so than they used to. She ignored a worried glance from Sly as she swallowed a stunted sigh and straightened, eyes as cold as the unforgiving blizzard just outside.

“Samantha Carrington and Co. here.” She said simply to the nearest staff member, craning her neck higher as if to give the impression that she was much more powerful, “Where are my mother and father?” The words felt heavy on her tongue. Toxic. Sorrowful.

God, she needed a drink.

“Mr. Carrington is upstairs in the study,” the lady said, “and Mrs. Carrington is in her room preparing. Would you like me to show you to your rooms instead while you wait? I think they’re going to address all of you together.”

“Yes, yes, that would be fine.”

And so they went. As they followed the woman up several flights of stairs – slowly – Sly, in a stage-whisper, said, “Holy shit, Mom –– they’re like Bond villains.”

“I would call them duo Darth Vaders, personally, honey.”

Jesse snorted, but she hadn’t seen those movies – they were neither Westerns or crime dramas. Nevertheless, her contribution was, “Emperor Palpatines.” And that gained a stifled chuckle from Sam as they reached the door of her old, old room.