Down, but always plotting...
Sammy dozed on a chaise lounge set on the sun deck, a pair of dark glasses firmly in place. A file folder (Mikel Fury) and a notebook (creating new files on their visitors) rested on her stomach. Her cell phone was inside the pair of shoes next to the lounge. For the moment it was the one quiet spot, other than her room, that she could find to relax and get some sun after their recent tussles with both MoE and the Asgardians. She still wasn't happy she'd given back the sword. It had been taken fairly and would have looked nice mounted on the wall over her bed as a trophy. But it was a pacifying gesture, and God knew those Asgardians needed pacifiers.
She was sporting more than one souvenir of her recent activities. Along with the bruises from her fight with the MoE power shifter, she somewhere, somehow during Sarah's last hurrah managed to get a tattoo of a clock face on her hip. There was a vague memory of telling a bald, overly tattooed man (in Amsterdam maybe?) to put it on her ass, but her ass needed to sit down so it was moved to her hip. She discovered it while drying off after a shower, catching sight of her backside in the mirror. The tiny symbol was right were she couldn't hide it if she wore a bikini. It was a nice piece of work, clear and detailed for its size. The clock hands marked the devil's hour, 3am. Hah! Her devilish? Not lately.
Dad would give her all sorts of disapproving looks if he knew. Maybe he already did. Their passing through the club scene hadn't been all that secret.
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