The rain never stops.
Even as she sits drying, Sam humming happily to herself, she can hear the rain driving down on the walls of the manor. Her mouth is faint with the taste of Sam's stale lipstick and the lingering memory of vodka and orange juice.
Lara Croft feels oddly content as she smiles at Sam. She gets up and drops her towels, Sam looking lustily at her. Sam drops her own just as quickly and Lara feels her heart race.
"As much as I'd love to admire the merchandise, Sam, I feel like we should do something with our day. Something that involves having fun without bored perverts ruining it all."
"Or cultists. Or ancient Japanese queens. Or—"
"I was going to suggest the British Museum, but I can see why you'd disagree."
There is another cessation of speech. Lara is a woman of few words, but it is unusual for Sam to be so quiet.
"Lara…would you want to go take some pictures? Go exploring?"
Lara sighs, realizing that Sam's idea of exploring probably involves boys. And she does loathe sharing Sam's company with them. Jealousy, undoubtedly, but having your best friend and now more definite love nearly become a soul jar for an ancient queen tends to do that.
"First thing, let's switch on the telly. I need to see what the weather will be and the news…"
"I'm not watching it naked. I'd never be able to focus, Lara. I'd be too busy watching you."
Lara gently poked her in the ribs.
"Like you're one to talk, Miss 24-Hour Lingerie Channel."
"Hey! That was ONE time!"
"Exactly. 24 hours. In purple lace with black ivy print."
Sam just laughs, her perky breasts bouncing slightly.
"And you just couldn't keep your eyes off them."
She stops and realizes something.
"Shit! I forgot to do laundry! Now I have no bras left to wear…"
Lara giggled.
"I'd offer you mine, but…"
"Way to rub it in that you've got a killer rack, Lara. I'll just go braless, my old one reeks of Wild Turkey."
"I didn't think that was even popular in England."
"It's not. I just know a lot of Americans here."
Lara watched Sam slip into red panties, a pair of black skinny jeans, a fashionable black and white striped top (probably cashmere), and the jacket she'd worn to Yamatai.
Expensive leather carries no bad memories, apparently.
Lara opts for a blue tank top, jean jacket and matching jeans. She sighs faintly, which she does often.
Sam takes one look over Lara.
"You look so 2003 it's hilarious."
"And you look like an angel of darkness. What's next, Goth jewelry?"
"Well, I did once meet this hot guy named Kain. Had a bit of an attitude problem, but he gave me this really pretty necklace. But it keeps biting into me too much. It's got spikes on all sides."
Lara shakes her head, grinning.
"Sam, is there a guy on the planet you don't know?"
Sam smirks.
"Not many I don't. But I'd love to get to know you even more…"
Lara pushes her gently into the living room. She flicks on the telly and waits for the news.
"This just in—a string of crimes has been perpetrated around the abandoned areas of what was once known as the Spanish City. Few know this, but a wax museum at one point had been an attraction there—it was combined with a ghost train to attract more visitors. Unfortunately, it was buried just after construction for reasons unknown—though an official statement says safety may have been the reason. The new Spanish City is still under construction—funds are as yet still unavailable."
Lara is surprised.
"Lord Croft…my father…he took my mother there once."
The news report continues even as Lara's words trail off.
"And now the weather—the rain should be clearing within the hour, but fog is predicted to follow. You may want to hang on to your umbrellas, as a heavy wind is also on the way—"
*click*
"That settles it," declares Lara. "We're going to the ruins of the Spanish City."
"Lara," Sam continues, "That's a construction site. How are we getting in?"
"The workers can't operate in fog. Besides, who knows what else they've opened up…"
Sam sighs.
"Knowing our luck it'll be the ghost of some ancient carnival fortune teller who wants to use my body as a summer home."
Lara wishes she could find the quip funny, but Himiko's attempt at stealing Sam's body had cut her too deeply.
The blue tinges in Sam's arms are still fading. Lara notes that's why she's been wearing long sleeves so much lately. They look like bruises otherwise. Sam figures she might turn one into a tattoo, if it doesn't end up fading. Sam's parents are used to the fact that their daughter is a total wild child, and are thankful every day that she is friends with the sane, ladylike, well-adjusted Lara Croft.
Lara feels like either laughing or crying when she hears them profess their faith in her.
She's a sane, well-adjusted lady, in the Lizzie Borden sense of things; at least that's what she thinks.
It doesn't take much convincing for Winston to get the car ready, short of a "It's about bloody time I got something to do around here. You're a lady, Mistress Croft, it's time you acted like one."
The drive to Blackpool is passed mostly by Lara and Sam singing along badly to Hanson songs in the back seat. Despite this, Lara goes over the contents of her pack. A climbing axe. The two pistols she'd used to shoot Father Mathias off a cliff. A short-wave radio. And a first aid kit.
Sam was bringing her camera and an axe, along with a gun of her own. The hard-partying girl had taken to wanting a little more security lately. Sam, however, favors a sawed-off shotgun. She figures she can't miss with it.
Lara doesn't have the heart to voice her misgivings.
She can't get Dire Straits out of her head as she walks the dead amusement park grounds. Diving under yellow tape and orange plastic, Lara and Sam find a ladder leading all the way down. As each girl begins to climb down, the ladder shudders and gives way. A quick-timed axe strike, made in perfect unison, saves them from a particularly nasty fall.
"Let's not do that again, Sam."
"We really should complain to public works."
As they continue downward, a sense of dread overcomes them….and the fog rolls in. A harsh wind blows, and a feeling of terror sinks into their minds. Though no vengeful queen calls this weather, storms still leave scars in their psyche.
It is a relief then, when they drop to the ground.
And considerably less of one when they fall through the floor.
