Sam steps into the local inn and approaches the front desk. There's no one behind the counter, but he can hear people in another room. He drums his fingers on the desk impatiently while he waits.
A black-haired girl appears in the doorway; she looks to be somewhere around twenty. Sam eyes her appreciatively. Despite the cold weather, she's wearing shorts that display most of her long, slender legs. Her eye makeup is thick and dark, giving her the look of a dark enchantress. She bats her eyes once, twice, three times at Sam. He nods and gives her a crooked half-smile. He knows girls like her go crazy over that.
An old lady comes into the room and steps behind the front desk. She purses her lips tightly as she observes Sam's interactions with the girl. She slams a binder on the front desk a little harder than is necessary and ruffles some papers impatiently.
"One room," says Sam.
"I assumed," says the old woman.
Sam clenches his jaw. The old bag's already grinding his nerves a little bit.
"How long are ya stayin'?" she asks.
"Don't know. A few days, probably," says Sam.
The hunt couldn't take longer than that. Samuel had gotten word of a werewolf plaguing these parts. But he'd been busy, so he sent Sam to drive up and check it out. Sam had to admit, the schlep up to Maine had been a hell of a long drive. This trip had damn well better be worth it. Judging by the girl eyeing him up, he'd say it probably will be, even if the werewolf tip turns out to be a dud.
"Give me a minute. I'll figure out your room," says the old woman.
Sam is happy to give her all the time she wants. He strolls over to the girl, who's now twirling a strand of hair around her index finger. Her nails are bright red.
"What's your name?" he asks.
"Ruby," she says, tilting her head side to side.
"Sam," he replies.
The girl barely has to say anything to show how much she wants him. Hell, the girl's practically emitting pheromones. Sam's happy to indulge her; she's pretty damn hot. He leans an arm against the wall and loosens his tie.
"You work here?" he asks.
"And at the diner," says Ruby, "Granny owns them both."
"Good gig," says Sam.
"Yeah. What do you do?" she asks.
"Investigative journalist," he replies readily.
"Ooh, must be fascinating," she says eagerly, her dark-rimmed eyes going wide.
"I guess so," he says.
The old woman – must be Ruby's granny – coughs loudly. Sam turns his head. The old woman is dangling a key from her middle finger. He strolls over and takes the key from her. He chooses to ignore what was probably a subtlely-veiled attempt to give him the finger. If she thinks she's gonna dissuade him from flirting with her granddaughter, she's got another thing coming.
"You're in room 103," says the old woman.
"Thanks," says Sam.
He winks at Ruby, grabs his bag, and heads upstairs. The room isn't difficult to find; it's not a large hotel. The wallpaper in Sam's room is an awful, aged pink with a floral pattern. The furniture looks about as old as the innkeeper downstairs. But still, it's a better bed than Sam's had in a while. The drive up here had featured a lot of nights spent sleeping in the car. Not exactly ideal.
Sam tosses his jacket on the bed and rolls up his sleeves. He's going to try to do a little bit of research before he goes to bed. It can't hurt to see what's floating around the internet about – what was this place called, again? Storybrooke?
There's a knock at the door. Sam goes over and opens it. He's pleased to see Ruby standing there, shifting her weight onto one leather boot-clad foot.
"Hey," says Sam.
"Hey. I just wanted to see if you need anything," she says.
The look in her eyes makes it incredibly clear that "anything" included a lot more than just hotel toiletries. Sam thinks he might take her up on that while he's in town. But considering that he's had a long drive and the girl's grandmother is right downstairs, he doesn't want to push his luck. Even Sam isn't that impulsive.
"I'm good," says Sam, "How are you doing?"
"I'm great," says Ruby. "So, what's a journalist doing in town? Nothing interesting ever really happens here."
"I don't quite know yet," says Sam, "I've still got a lot of investigating to do. If I find anything out, I promise you'll be the first to know."
"Maybe I can help you while you're here," she offers.
"I'd like that. I think I'm gonna hit the hay," he says. Sam jerks his head towards the bed inside his room.
"Okay. Goodnight, Sam," she says.
"'Night, Ruby," he replies.
Ruby gives him a flirtatious wave, turns on her heel, and struts away. Sam enjoys the view as she heads toward the stairs. When she's out of sight, he goes back into his room to do some research.
The wi-fi in this inn is pretty abysmal. But Sam's laptop is pretty good at making the best of a bad connection, so research doesn't go much slower than usual. He looks up "Storybrooke, Maine" and is shocked to find the sparsity of information that comes up. He searches for freak deaths in the area over the past few months, weird accidents, all of the usual business: nothing. This town is squeaky clean.
A little aggravated, Sam hops into the shower for a few minutes. The hot water does wonders to help his frustration. He thinks a lot about the hunt while he's in there. By the time he's out of the shower, he's already mapped out a few places where he'll ask around tomorrow.
He thinks he'll start with Ruby at the diner.