Caritas, Wednesday Evening

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Sam opened Caritas, waved to the zombies, reattached the requisite limbs (the drummer had a strange fondness for purple tape, but all was well otherwise in that regard, and it made a lovely choker), and then sat down with a pad of paper and a pen.

I, Samantha Carter, being of sound mind and body, write this, my last will and testament.

Not that she was nervous about Ethics class the next day or anything.

Comments

The Band

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To Charlie Kawalsky, I leave my P-90, my 9 mm, the spare zat'nikatel, the new hand grenade I bought on the commerce planet, the healing device, the hand device, and my half of the homemade explosives in the Danger Room Shop.

Please share with Aeryn Sun as you see fit.

The Bar

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To John Crichton, I leave my walls, my notebooks, and all of my work on wormholes. You're the only one who understands it anyway.

The Lounge

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To Jack Harkness, I leave...

And here, Sam got stuck.

OOC

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To end an unintentionally morbid post. Oops.