signed_sabrina | (no subject)

The thing is, this is the third time in less than a year that her parentage has come into play, in some awful way. She can't take credit for the Darkness, but Lucifer was her own mess, and she can't be certain how her influence has impacted Marcus.

Even if she's not causing it, she thinks she probably makes it worse. If it weren't for her promise to Charlie, and that awful night in the Necropolis, she thinks she might do something stupid. She might already be doing something stupid, knowing that she's hiding out here at Sam's warehouse, instead of going home with anyone, but she feels a little like anyone handling her is bound to be hurt at this point.

Luckily or not, however, it doesn't seem like Sam's tiny punk girlfriend particularly worries about these things. Sabrina admits to having been distracted for a full fifteen minutes from the possession situation by questions and the desire to probably make poor Sam insane with said questions on handling Satanic influences on relationships.

She does not fight it when her phone is taken by said tiny woman, and remains brooding on the floor, unaware of the call made to Rosie, or the directive to come pick her up.

Threaded | Flat

Seeing Sabrina's name pop up on her phone's screen, she'd answered the call with all the care and concern she could muster--only for her expression to change to something startled as the semi-familiar voice on the other end laid out what she expected to have happen in clipped, Scandinavian tones. "Of course, Mi--Lisbeth. I'll be right there." Ordinarily, Rosie makes free and frequent use of her student bus pass when she needs to go further in the city than she can comfortably walk; today, she flags down a cab, giving the address for the warehouse to the driver and asking him to go as fast as you can, please. It's something she'd always wanted to say, having seen it in a film once, but somehow under these particular circumstances quite a bit of the shine's gone out of it.

As the cab driver wends his way through the city, Rosie calls Neil at work, luckily catching him on his break. "We're having a houseguest," she informs him, her tone one that brooks no argument. "Sabrina. Probably I'll order something in for dinner, I can...oh. Alright, maybe we'll see you in the morning, then." That settled, she puts her phone back in her pocket, watching out the window as the houses and shops give way to something more industrial.

They reach the warehouse, and Rosie tells the cab to wait in the same firm, decisive voice she'd used with Neil--and when that doesn't quite work, offers him double the usual fare, which does. Thank goodness for savings, she thinks, ringing the doorbell and waving at the camera she can see up near the rafters of the building. There's a clunk of the lock disengaging, and the door swings open. She enters, going down the hall and into the main room, where she can see a very familiar form huddled on the floor.

"Sabrina," she says, sinking down next to her. Carefully, she reaches out a hand, laying it gently on the slope of her friend's shoulder. "I've...come home with me? Just for tonight."