Room 406, Sunday morning/early afternoon

[izzyalienqueen]

When Isabel woke Sunday morning, she was surprised to see that Xander hadn't returned to the room during the night. After showering and getting dressed, she fed Jeramiah, grateful that he ate dried meal worms instead of live ones.

"Well, looks like we missed all the excitement yesterday. Do you think I should go look for Xander?"

"Croak..."

"Okay what does that mean? He's fine? He's been eaten by the snow monsters? Or do you just want more food?"

"Ribbit..."

"More food, okay..." She dropped a few more meal worms into the tank and then eyed Xander's computer. She'd seen it sitting in the second floor common room last night but didn't see Xander around so she'd brought it back to the room for safe keeping. The last thing she felt like doing was more homework. It was still early, she'd wait a little while and then go looking for him. But in the meantime she hoped Xander wouldn't mind if she used the computer to play solitare.

Opening it up, she pressed the power button, and settled down to play.

[ooc: Open to anyone who wants to stop by. AFK until 3:30 EST though I'm back!]

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[izzyalienqueen.livejournal.com]

"Anytime. He's sweet." She said as he closed the bathroom door.

When the door opened again and his clothes dropped out, she got up and picked them up gingerly. Carefully folding them to minimize paint exposure. If she happened to finish drying the paint until she had time and privacy to remove it, well that just kept things neat. "I'd say anytime, but I really don't want to make a habit of doing your laundry," she called through the door.

[soldtoarmenians]

Xander wondered privately as he started the hot water running why she was going with the 'doing laundry' story, but hey, if his roomie wasn't comfy talking about whatever weird All-Temperature Cheer powers she had, he could follow. God knew Buffy hadn't exactly been big on letting people know she was a Slayer for a long time.

"Not a problem; can't say I really make a habit of it myself," he called back, though his voice was probably muffled by the sound of the shower as he stepped into it and started sluicing the paint out of his hair.

Blech. HopefulLEEly Lee wasn't having quite as hard a time of it in his shower, he thought, thoughtfulLEEly.

Not that he was thinking of Lee in the shower. Well, he was thinking of Lee in his shower, but not in Lee's shower. Except now he sort of was thinking of Lee's shower, but only because he was following the thought-pattern to its logical conclusion. As you do. LogicaLEEly.

Right, then.