Fandom High Dormitories

Sam had slept pretty well, but now had a burning desire to be greasy, which she was chalking up to a reaction to formalwear and heels. Since the other option--heading over to the gun range--didn't appeal right now, she was back with the swoop bike and trying to tweak the settings on the steering and brakes. They were still a little too sensitive for her, which shouldn't be a huge surprise, since they originally came from Anakin.

Within minutes, she was filthy, wearing a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt, with a fresh pot full of coffee and doughnuts on the table, singing along to the radio.


[ooc: Open to everyone.]

Sam was on the floor of the garage next to her swoop bike, surrounded by parts--half clean, half filthy--a rag, and assorted tools. She was currently busy filing down a part she'd designed and cast for the propulsion system, trying to smooth all the rough edges before she replaced it.

So far, it was a little better than it had been, but the process was slow-going because she had to keep stopping to pull the metal filings out of her fingertips. At least it was mind-numbing enough work that she could let her mind drift, and not think of anything; particularly not seventeen-year-old girls leading armies into battle, because that should never have happened.


[ooc: Open to all.]

Sam hadn't gone back to her room after leaving Parker's party. She'd taken a very long run around the island, and then swam some laps in the pool in an attempt to exhaust herself into sleep, but it didn't work. She couldn't focus enough to work on her swoop bike or the wormhole equations on her wall, and she didn't have any homework to do.

Which was how she'd ended up in the common room making many pots of coffee and setting out an assortment of pastries from J, GoB (along with a little sign that said No, I didn't make them! and a reference phone number for the bakery in case anyone wanted to call and check). She wasn't exactly feeling social, but that could always change. She started nibbling on a bear claw and flipped through channels on the television.


[ooc: Open to all!]

Sam was crouched down next to her swoop bike, making some adjustments to the clutch, which was sticking a little, and the brakes, which needed to be made much more solid if she was going to continue going at the speeds she wanted to.

She hummed tunelessly as she worked.

[ooc: Open to all, thread with Jack Harkness locked to them.]

Dressed in a pair of old denim overalls and t-shirt, Sam sat on the floor next to her motorcycle/swoop bike, surrounded by many, many scavenged, rigged, and purchased parts, her tool box, and the schematics, which she'd reclaimed from the Danger Room Shop once the garage renovations were complete.

Today was all about the power source. Gasoline and combustion engines were so very twentieth century.



[ooc: Post is open!]

Deciding she couldn't face the heat and humidity of the early afternoon Virginia summer, Sam had gone back to her room after the Doctor's class, taken a hot shower (because it was different, thank you), then decided to try something. Something people would appreciate.

Chocolate chip cookies. They printed the recipe right on the package, and she was getting better. She'd taken out the mixing bowls and the ingredients, except for the vanilla. Sam had climbed up on the counter and reached into the cupboard, fumbling around until she'd found what she was looking for. It had smelled vaguely like vanilla to Sam, so she'd measured it out and dumped it into the bowl with the wet ingredients.

She'd stirred and mixed and portioned and baked.

And now, several hours later, there was a plate of innocent looking chocolate chip cookies on the picnic table. They weren't perfect by any stretch of the imagination--some were burnt, some were undercooked, some were torn, but they were cookies.

Next to it was a hand-lettered sign that said: Help yourself!--Sam


[ooc: Okay, how this works is--if you signed up for the plot, have a cookie (or two). They'll taste a little weird, because there's no vanilla in them, but they should still be edible. You also don't have to eat them at the campfire--you can just ping, grab one or two, and nosh later. The effects won't kick in until tomorrow, though, so you can still do whatever you want to do tonight. The post itself is open to all, though.]

Sam was outside in front of the cabin, laying on her back with a pair of binoculars, staring up at the constellations Dr. Arroway had showed them in class last session. Since it was a frillion over ninety degrees outside, she didn't feel a pressing need to light the campfire, but there was wood ready if someone else wanted to do so.


[ooc: Open to all!]