Samuel
Drench a kitchen rag in heretics blood
Sam had received Nate's letter first, though only barely. He had hoped for a civil response, a chance to talk it out reasonably, even if Nate was insulted - but no, the words clearly marked out that this was going to be a thing, and so the pounding fist on the door was not that much of a surprise. He stood up and went to open it, indeed opening his mouth to talk then getting cut off by Nate. Once, he would have found it very intimidating, would have immediately begged for forgiveness...but Sam was older, braver, and he'd seen Nate vulnerable too many times to believe the macho bullshit he did; chest puffed out, height pulled up, almost like a little boy trying to pretend to be a man.
Sighing and rolling his eyes, keeping an arm very much across the doorway, Sam looked up at Nate and determinedly didn't let himself shake. "If you're going to have this kind of attitude, there's no point in having the conversation." He said primly, tilting his head at the end of his words. "Calm down, and you can come in."
Wash your windows and prepare for the flood
