No Sacrifice, No Victory

Sam was playing Spider Solitaire and illegally downloading music when his phone rang. He didn't recognize the number, so he answered with a cautious, "Hello?"

A British man asked, "Is this Samuel Wildicky?"

( Not exactly )

((Yes, Sam is leaving Fandom soon. Door and post are open if anyone wants to talk to him.))

Sam was IMing with Mikaela when another window popped up--from Bumblebee. The message was: Your phone is about to ring.

And it did.

( Phone call! )

Sam left a note for Helen asking her to please make sure Mojo didn't die for a few days and headed out to go find the new guy.

((Also establishy!))

Chas Kramer woke up on Saturday morning in a strange place, in a strange bed, with a chihuahua with a rhinestone collar licking his face. This wasn't actually the weirdest thing that had happened to him since he'd met John Constantine, but it was pretty weird, if not in the cool way he kept hoping things would be. He now had a more full and complete understanding of what John meant when he said, "Don't touch anything you find in my fridge," and swore he would never do so again--just as soon as he figured out where he was, what exactly what he'd have sworn was an unopened bottle of beer had done to him, and where he'd left his car.

First step: call John, so he could get the 'yelling at Chas' portion of the festivities over with. The only phone he could find was definitely not his, as it came with a picture of a hot girl sitting on the hood of a sweet car as the wallpaper. Either the owner of the phone had downloaded it off the internet and was in desperate need of a life, or had a way better life than Chas. After a couple of misdials, Chas remembered John's number, but it seemed to be disconnected. "C'mon, John, can't you remember to pay the bill just this once?" he muttered.

But he had more immediate concerns, in the form of the Chihuahua now whining at the door. Chas figured he'd better do something about that before he had to clean up the mess. "All right, come on, little guy. Girl. Whatever you are." He knelt down to check the tags. "Mojo. Come on, Mojo. Let's, uh. Go for walkies. Whatever."

Sam paced his room while he spoke to his mom on the phone:

"No, Mom--Mom, I told you, I can't make it for Thanksgiv--because I'm at boarding school, Mom. In Maryland. No, it's definitely not Virginia, it's a long--no, I can't drive out. I--it's a long--I sure am gonna miss Aunt Ruth's turkey," he said, trying desperately to change the subject. "No one makes it like her." Except maybe an industrial dehydrator. "Yeah, I--you. You what? You invited Mikaela?" Sam dove for his computer to book the next flight home. "Well, I'm sure she has better things to--oh. She's coming?" Yes, there was one in a couple of hours, he could just make it if he, like, ran. Good thing Mr. Stark paid him well. "You know what, Mom, I absolutely will be there. Yeah. Uh-huh. Okay, I love you, bye!"

He scribbled a note to Helen asking her to please feed Mojo and not let him eat Sam's leftover pain pills, then grabbed a duffel and started throwing clothes in it basically at random. He was only going to be gone for a couple of days, after all.

((Establishy, but open if anyone wants to catch Sam before he flees!))

It was fairly late at night, but Sam was wide awake.

Nightmares about giant crazy evil robots trying to kill you and/or your world would do that to a guy. Hence the pacing and muttering and general not-sleeping. He could call Mikaela? No, Mikaela was asleep and would swear at him.

This sucked.

"Hey, you've reached Sam, uh, Sam Witwicky, and uh, I'm not here right now, obviously, but if you'll leave a message I'll get right back to you, I swear.  Especially if you're Mikaela.  If you're from the US government--not that I would know anyone from the US government if you're not, haha, how silly--then I'll get back to you.  Uh.  Eventually.  Hypothetically.

...okay bye."

BEEP.