Samantha's Day

A Samantha Grey story set in Primal Dimension.

Waking

Looking North from the Apartment Window, 0500.

The shrill ring of the alarm clock jolted Samantha awake, her eyes snapping open as she fumbled for the button. She rubbed her eyes, the morning light not yet a hint outside her bedroom. It took a moment for her to shut out her dreams and remember the day ahead. Throwing off the covers, untangling her hair from her horns, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pushed herself up. As she padded on the balls of her feet across the cold floor, she grabbed a bottle of water from her nightstand and downed half of it in one go. Samantha made her way to the small kitchenette, where she prepared a simple breakfast of yogurt, fruit, and nuts. She ate quickly, knowing that she had a busy morning ahead. Once she finished, she rinsed her dishes and set them aside to dry, then headed to the gym located on the ground floor of her apartment complex. As she entered the gym, the bright florescent lights and familiar scent of sweat and disinfectant greeted her. She smiled to herself - it was empty, as it usually was before sunrise.

Workout

Samantha began with a warm-up jog on the treadmill, her heart rate slowly rising as she pushed herself to go faster and further. She then moved on to a series of weightlifting exercises, targeting different muscle groups with each set. The rhythmic clank of metal against metal filled the air; she didn't use heavy weights by superhero standards, yet her muscles still burned with the effort. Ten kilos here, twenty there, it added up. Most were exercizes any normal person would do, but five-kilo tail curls and fifty-kilo wing liftoffs were hers alone here. As she worked, Samantha lost herself in the physical exertion, the sleep left in her melting away with each repetition.

Someone else entered, "Oh, hi Sam. 'Morning." Kate lives two floors down, a single mother with a teen son. "Morning Kate, how's Alan?", she replied. Kate got on a treadmill, and set it for a somewhat slower pace than Sam had used. "He's good. Those Lost quit hanging out by the bus stop, too. Thanks." Sam smiled. "All I did was stop by for a minute and said hello to the kids." Kate grinned, "That's what they needed." That felt good. The meta-gangs in this city were a force common people learned to fear and avoid, when they could. Lost hanging out by a school bus stop could only lead to trouble, and Samantha knew presence of a hero living openly in the complex would help. She just had to be seen a couple times, and they moved elsewhere.

After an hour of intense training, Samantha returned to her apartment, feeling worn but not exhausted. She stripped off her sweaty clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the cold spray wash away the sweat from her workout. By the time the water drained, it was dirty and hot. She dried her hair, carefully brushing it out and fixing her ponytail for the day. She thought it looked good loose, but teleportation tended to tangle it. There were a few errands this morning before she could take on tasks for the police, or if the friends needed her, or if other problems arose. There were other heroes, and if one focused too much on that, it could wear one's self down, or even lead to bad decisions. Let others carry the load now and then.

Her first errands were simple, everyday affairs. No costume. Just plain clothes, and for March, a cloak. She tucked her wings and tail, covered her head, and left the building and took the bus to King's Row.

Service

Our Lady of Redemption Church, King's Row.

It was a small place, tucked away in King's Row. It wasn't close to her apartment, but she made the trip most days of the week; and sometimes twice, regardless. She had sought them out herself, but they were not surprised, and took her in. There were others - there was an emergent specialization of learned authorities on the process and its particulars. This group in the 'Row was small, and those who attended their services were hand-screened volunteers. It comforted Samantha, that many were Irish, as her parents had been. The community they served was even smaller, but around the world, they met and struggled. Some in total secrecy, some less so. But none fully public. Eyebrows would raise, but the organization had hundreds of years' experience, and as time passed its relationship had progressed from night to day.

Samantha had moved about in public often enough over the nearly two hundred years before The Cleansing, and even afterwards, while in service to the Republic, she often had to keep a low profile. She entered, found a bench, and sat. It was hard and uncomfortable. There were others present, some speaking. She listened, and gave thought to what was said. There were others like her, taking shelter from this place for a short time, some for longer. A few were in desperate straights; Samantha supposed she was fortunate not to share those problems. But it was a shelter to them, and what help they would accept was offered. Her time came, and she got up, walked past the few rows of benches, and sat inside the small booth, and closed the privacy door. This was even more uncomfortable. There was a palpable wrongness to it, an oppressive weight bearing her down onto the hard wooden seat. Her every instinct told her to leave; to ignite, to fly out, to flee, but she struggled and resisted. Powers dimmed down to nothingness, not even a glint in her eyes. She calmed herself, listening to silence, until a man sat on the other side of the partition, and a clock chimed.

She spoke. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was five days ago." Father James McAllister replied, "Go ahead, my child. Speak your truth and know that God forgives all." She continued, "Well, Father, I've been having some impure thoughts about a man I work with. His name is Mike." "I see," he said, "And these thoughts of Mike, are they lustful in nature?" "Yes, Father. A passion rises in me when I'm around him." There was a momentary pause, and then he spoke again. "It's natural to have such feelings, Samantha. But it's important to remember that we must control our desires and not let them control us. Have you acted on these feelings in any way?" She replied, "No, Father. I resist, but it's difficult." "I understand, my child. But remember that you -- even you, are a child of God, and He will provide you with the strength you need to resist temptation. Pray for guidance and ask God to help you keep your thoughts pure," he answered. "Thank you, Father," she said. He replied, "May God bless you, Samantha. And remember, the Church is always here to help you on your journey. As penance, I assign you to pray the Rosary daily for the next week and offer up your struggle as a sacrifice to God, and know that He will accept it. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen." Samantha finished, "Amen."

Half an hour later the cloaked figure walked out the back door of the small Church dedicated as Our Lady of Redemption.

Groceries

It took a few minutes to get the costuming makeup on her wings and tail; she felt their natural skin color and texture, especially the veiny wing membranes, put people off. With her costume on, she could go about her day in public. Just doing the majority of her day's activities in costume helped cement her connections to the local community. She wasn't "That devil-girl hero" in the distance, she was Samantha, buying groceries like everyone else. Flour, butter, apples. She'd decided to try one more time before calling Brigette and Sorc over for help with her oven's tempermental fits. Instead of flying or teleporting home, she decided to ride the bus. Paragon's bus service was spotty at best; but Overbrook had a functioning line and she caught a view of Jim Temblor, a resident of some fame, on her way home. Riders always liked seeing a hero in costume on the bus.

The Pocket

The Somewhat Hidden Entrance to Pocket-D, Overbrook.

With groceries stowed away for later, she found her way to a certain manhole tucked around a corner in an alley, and made her way to Pocket-D for coffee. The D was an interesting place, often full of the worst sort, but also with some of the best coffee in Primal Dimension. Or technically, not. She knew a few people there too; all presumably heroes. Samantha supposed some of them might be villains, too. How could she tell? This dimension's fashions for heroes and villains could be bewilderingly overlapped. And just knowing where someone lived said little. She'd met snappy-outfitted 'heroes' eager to put down common criminals as if they were vermin, and strangely disturbing creatures, like Blades, who were very willing to use good judgment and show restraint, once explained. It had been so much easier back home. Everyone wearing your colors, whether you liked them or not, was on your side; and the ones wearing the other side's colors, well, you killed them if you could. Justice here was complicated.

Coffee, bar snacks, and light conversation behind her, it was time to get to it -- PPD and Vanguard both had work for her.