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You unlock the door and go into room Y8.
Room Y8(#1211RA)
This poor room is very confused. Its owner has traveled extensively, as is
obvious from the disjointed decor. Oddly, though, it all seems to fit, and
the room certainly matches Corian's personality. The glossy wooden floor is
bare, with the exception of one small, circular braided rug. The dark blue
overstuffed couch seems new, and is sized to fit an Edreeni. The throw over
the couch, however, is faded, and seems to depict some sort of seascape. A
low table in front of the couch also seems fairly new. It holds a few books,
more paperwork, and a toy wind-up giraffe with a bit of ribbon around its
neck. The desk is a convenient little thing, looking like it can fold to a
size that may be carried. Of course, that means there are no drawers, but a
small portable file-drawer makes up for that. A rather large stack of
noveldisks rests on the desk, as well as paperwork in any of a number of
languages, a few wooden puzzles, and a photograph. A portable terminal is
generally somewhere around the room, depending on where Corian is working at
the moment. The chair tucked under the desk is decidedly comfortable, and
looks like the seat of choice for Corian. A screen hides the sleeping area
from view, and has a brightly-colored piece of cloth tacked to it. A long
coat of dark gray skrorg hangs near the door.
Contents:
Tarrant
Obvious exits:
Out
You come in from the Elevator Lounge.
You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.
Tarrant has apparently taken the latter third of Clara's advice to heart, as
he's still sitting on the end of the couch with his coat in his lap.
Apparently he's been snoozing, although the door opening must have clued him
in, as he's looking a bit startled and a lot guilty. Whoops, he was supposed
to move, wasn't he? "Um, hi, how'd it go?"
Corian looks rather tired as she comes into the room. "They wish to see you, cha'trez," she says. And if her voice is maybe a touch hoarse, as if she has been doing a bit of yelling, she is not going to mention that. She is carrying a bag from which rather happy aromas are coming, not unlike, hey, that place that was mentioned earlier as having real french fries. "They have been persuaded that waiting a day or two will not be a bad thing, though. And it went well, as these things go." She pauses a beat as your location registers, and she chides gently, "You -were- supposed to get a shower, cha'trez. At least I brought food, though, so you can eat."
"And I meant to, I really did." Tarrant pats at the couch, "Sit down, hon. You look beat, I take it the folks downstairs gave a hard line?" He glances at his watch, frowning at it to make the numbers click. "Ahh, yeah, waiting until tomorrow at least. It's kinda' on the late side." And he's obscenely tired, but he doesn't want to mention that bit. "I, I'm sorry about all this."
Corian puts the bag on the table, and shakes her head. "I will sit down in a
moment, cha'trez, but I really do need to get out of these jeans." Woo baby?
Corian does pause to duck into the kitchen for plates and some iced tea,
which are both put on the table as well. "And, yes, they were difficult, but
it was worthwhile. They agreed--eventually--that some vacation time was in
order." She rummages, and comes up with a second bag as well, this one from
the toy store. Of course, she's evil and doesn't say what's in it, but
instead starts back to find more comfortable clothing. "Do start eating,
cha'trez. I will be out in a moment."
"Vacation time?" Okay, Tarrant does his best not to sound pathetically hopeful,
but a hint of it leaks through despite his best intentions. He tries to laugh
it off by teasing, "Did you have to threaten them with grievous bodily harm?"
He hauls himself up from the couch, shrugging the jacket back on out of
habit. He ambles carefully to the table and sinks down into the chair that
has become his. "Oh wow, burgers, love you're a saint." The other bag is
regarded with lifted brows and an expression eerily reminiscent of this
morning's evil. Ooooh. It's a silent oooh at least.
Corian nods as she comes back from the bed-area in her terrorist outfit,
looking much more comfortable, though the black doesn't do a -thing- for her
coloring. "Vacation time," she repeats. "They have not yet decided whether it
will be more than a few days, and, well, there were a few conditions, but
they have not made much of a decision yet." She folds herself to another
chair with a rather grateful sigh, then rummages for a burger of her own.
Don't stare, she's hungry. "And I thought that you would like a burger," she
adds, with a warm smile. "Clara did say protein, after all, and this does
have protein."
"Conditions?" And Tarrant -does- stare, looking rather puzzled at this whole beef-consumption arrangement. After all, he's -used- to you being a vegetablarian by now. He covers his confusion by taking a bite of his own burger. And then see, he has to look thrilled. "Oh this is tremendous." He looks a bit sheepish, "Burgers are always a good bet, I've got to agree."
Corian takes a moment to nibble at her burger before she answers, and to snag a
few french fries as well. Catching the stare, she looks rather sheepish. "It
smelled good, and I know that it is not of a variety that would make me
ill...." She nods, then, with a brief grimace. "Conditions, yes, but as they
have not yet decided, it might be best to wait on discussing them." In other
words, she's not thrilled with them, and thus maybe doesn't want to talk
about them. So she segues, "I am glad that you like the burger, though. I was
hoping that you would."
Tarrant does not seem to be willing to be segued however, although he gives you a few moments of peace while he munches slowly. He's not given to food inhalation this evening apparently. He pauses to nod, "Well, if you're going to go after meat, the burger's a good way to go." There's a pause and he attempts to meet your gaze, "What kind of conditions?"
Corian takes a sip of her tea, then takes a slow, deliberate bite, obviously stalling. After she finishes that bite, she says calmly, "It is of their opinion that, while perhaps you need a break while it is determined whether or not the drug will have lasting effects, that I am able to work on my own." And then she takes another bite of her burger. Mm mm good.
Tarrant doesn't say anything for a moment, instead considering his burger a
moment. He doesn't take another bite, he just considers it. "Ah." Okay, so
he's very obviously not thrilled with -that- idea, but nor is he willing to
have a fit either. He thinks over his words, setting the sandwich down. "I
understand."
"I could hardly argue with them over -that-," Corian says, sounding decidedly
apologetic. "I would really -prefer- to work with you, of course, but I could
not tell them that I cannot work by myself." She sets down her sandwich as
well, regarding you with a hint of concern. "Are you all right with this,
cha'trez? Really?"
"I suppose it comes to defining 'all right'," Tarrant replies in a wry tone. He crosses his arms, resting them lightly against the table. "I...had it...expressed to me in the past why working with a partner is preferable. However you are also very much...capable of managing on your own."
Corian says quietly, reaching to rest a hand on one of your arms, "It will be
jobs with much less risk than they usually entail, cha'trez, as my skills
are... rather different than yours. And I will be careful--besides," she
adds, with a vaguely wry smile, "Perhaps they will decide that you need to
work after all."
Tarrant murmurs something along the lines of 'damn skippy' as he brings a hand
to rest on to of yours, squeezing it gently. "I'll see what is to be arranged
tomorrow when they pick my brain." Oooh, is Tarrant angry? Um, yes, although
it's a well hidden anger. Only the lack of his more usual boyish expression
indicates the fact.
You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.
Corian twists her hand around so that she can take yours, gaze dropping for a moment. Yes, she has picked up on this anger. Looking up after a moment, she offers a smile that is, yes, perhaps a bit strained. "I am sorry, Tarrant," she says carefully. "I could not say no to this. Despite the... dubious wisdom of their request, I do have a responsibility to them."
"No, I understand, you couldn't say no." It is apparently not -you- Tarrant is angry with, but he's most assuredly unpleased. In fact, if by tomorrow these people aren't living in fear of him as well, it will only be because they have moved the office somewhere he can't find it. It's debatable even if he'll wait until morning before going and removing vital limbs from assorted departmental personel. "They specialize in such situations."
Corian gets lightly to her feet and comes around to rest her hands on your shoulders. She bends down to kiss your cheek, saying quietly, "I do not like it either, cha'trez, but it will be well." Mainly because you're going to scare the hell out of them, but, hey, she doesn't have to say that. She doesn't say anything more, in fact, but just lightly rubs your shoulders.
If you hadn't known Tarrant was angry before, hands on his shoulders would
definately give it away, as he's tensed as if to spring. Well spring or
randomly rip out the throats of passerby. As childlike as he is, it's easy to
forget this is also a very dangerous man. But he is. Really. No. Stop
snickering. "Everything will turn out," he agrees, his tone at least, amiable
enough.
Corian does her best to work the tension out of your shoulders. Yes, this is why she segued earlier; she knew that the reaction would not be a positive one. She doesn't say anything for a long moment, just lets her hands talk for her. (Let your fingers do the walking?) "Maybe," she says slowly, finally, "You should get that shower at some point, as Clara suggested." Of course, she doesn't stop the shoulder-rubbing, which probably isn't helping.
Well it depends on what it isn't helping. Tarrant's singularly unlikely to want to go engage in showering related activities while he's getting his back rubbed, that's for sure. But on the other hand, it certainly serves to get him to relax a little, and hence he's less likely to try and dismember any random passerby. In fact it doesn't take too long before he's melting into a puddle'o'Tarrant. Oooh, get the nacho chips, he's dip! "Shower, check, she said that, yeah. Hmmm...shower...that's the thing with the water, right?"
Are the nachos in a big bowl? Corian chuckles very quietly, and leans down to
kiss your cheek once more. "The thing with the water, yes, in the bathroom. I
will finish up with your backrub when you have gotten the shower, if you
like? Or," she adds, evil woman, "I could show you what I got for us at the
toy store."
Okay, this shower is never going to take place. Toys...shower...is there even a question of it? Tarrant glances up, perking up decidedly, "The toy store?" He's tired, still angry deep down, and still a bit froozeldy, but this is a -toy-. Toys always have the power to cause him to be pleased. "A toy?"
Corian nods, but corrects gently, "After the shower, cha'trez, but, yes, a toy.
Two toys, in fact, one for each of us. But you need to get a shower first. It
will make you feel better, love."
Tarrant sighs at great length as he climbs carefully to his feet. He steadies himself against the table's edge before meandering towards the bathroom. "This is -sneaky-, but hey, it will work, so I shouldn't tease I suppose." He offers a bright grin, and then gathering clean clothes he ducks into the bathroom. Silence ensues for a minute, and then presumably he finds his rubber duckie or whatever, as the sound of running water begins.
Would this be one of the ducks who didn't come back? Corian just sighs quietly
as you head into the bathroom, shaking her head. The food is left where it
is--maybe you'll be hungry later, after all--and she goes to unpack the toys
from the bag. Yes, they're toy robots, controllable via remote controls and
able to shoot each other. What fun.
Tarrant returns after a while, his hair damp, and wearing what passes for casual wear in his existance -- aka a lot of denim. Okay, so he's not looking terribly awake, but at least he's stopped looking like he wants to damage people. "Oooh!" No, he's not poinging, he's just spotted the toys. "Neat!"
Corian looks up from one of the remote controls with a brief hint of worry for the ooh, but then she sees that, yes, it's a legitimate ooh. "I thought you might like them," she says, scooting over on the couch to make room. A brief smile warms her face, and she offers the other remote control.
Tarrant sinks down on the couch next to you, although the worried look garners
a slightly confused one of his own. He accepts the offered remote control
with a grin, "Oh these are -snazzy-." He of course begins pushing buttons in
an attempt to figure out what they do, rather than being sane and asking. "Oh
-wow-..." He stifles a chuckle, "The people at the toy store must think we
have kids."
"No, but we -are- kids," Corian replies cheerfully, "Which is close enough, yes? And I thought that this would be relaxing, though it is odd, that shooting at each other would be relaxing." She, of course, has already experimented with the remote control, and sends her robot over the table.
"Shooting?" Tarrant perks up at that, and lo, discovers that control. "Ooooh!"
He then of course immediately sets his robot to stalking yours. "Bah! Come
back oh infidel, it is time for you to die for your worship of false
batteries!"
You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.
Someone's knocking on the door. Maybe it's Clara. (If you like, you can 'reply
<words>'.)
Corian calls, "Come... no, wait, Tarrant, it is unfair to shoot me -now-!...
come in."
Clara enters from the Elevator Lounge.
Clara has arrived.
Corian, wearing that bizarre terrorist society shirt, is perched on the couch with a remote control in one hand. She's working very busily to control one of the robots on the table before the couch. "Aha!" she crows, as the robot turns. "-Now- you cannot get me... oh, hello, Clara. We have toys!" She offers a cheerful smile. Maybe the poinging thing is contagious?
Whoops, all Clara heard was 'shoot me now', and she all but bursts through the door commando style, alarm written all over her face (in Helvetica 14 point) and holding her darter pistol at bay. "Corian?" The sight of the toy garners much blinking that turns to a terribly sheepish blush as she tucks the darter away. "Don't -scare- me like that," she protests with a laugh, eyeing Tarrant clinically. "How're you feeling, mister? Still want to be called Jeffrey?"
Tarrant is wearing the three kinds of denim that count as casual wear for him,
and he's -violently- cheerfully having fun. He doesn't seem to -even- notice
Clara's entrance, as he's cheering randomly, "Whiz! Bang! Die little robot!
Pray before your little electron gods!" He trails off and blinks up at Clara
sheepishly, starled he didn't notice her come in. "Jeffrey?" That last word
is certainly worried.
Corian looks over to offer Clara a decidedly sympathetic look. "Oh, dear. Please forgive me, Clara, I just did not want Tarrant to shoot me while I was distracted." There are, by the way, the remains of a pair of burgers on the other table--yes, two, weirdly enough. Corian pauses a moment in an attempt at zapping Tarrant's robot, without the sound effects, before she adds to Clara, "I... have not yet told him what happened. There was little opportunity, as it was necessary to explain to our employers what happened."
Clara ahs quietly, eyes scanning the burgers and registering surprise laced
with definite approval. "Shooting your spouse while she's distracted is a bad
thing, Tarrant," she offeres dutifully, padding close enough to lean on a
counter. "Whoops. Never mind then. That's a -great- toy," she enthuses,
grinning. "A new one?"
Tarrant glances from one of you to the other in slightly lost confusion, but he
doesn't press the issue. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to know. Besides,
he's already pressed one issue tonight, and that's enough. "She shot me
before I figured out the controls," he points out with an attempt at his
former amused grin. "I think it's only fair."
Corian nods to Clara, with a smile that seems cheerful enough. "Yes. They just got it in at the toy store, and I made one of the first purchases. And I -had- to shoot you," she adds to Tarrant, all innocence. "After all, you needed to see how it worked." For a miracle, though, she stops playing with the toy. Catching that surprise in Clara's expression, she offers a vaguely sheepish smile, and a murmur about the burgers smelling good.
Clara flickers her fingers dismissively with a quick flash of nose-wrinkled grin. "They're -good- for you," she protests, then gives into temptation and has to drop to her knees near the table containing the robots, eyes alight. "See, Tarrant? She was just -teaching- you how to use the controls. Instruction through demonstration, right? What else do they do?"
Tarrant is still convincing the robot to meander around in circles. He's a little...no make that a lot, slow tonight, but he's still having fun. It doesn't matter if the rest of his existance is conspiring to attack, he has a -toy-. "Woosh! Zoom!" He adds helpfully, "They zoom."
"These buttons make them turn," Corian says, a little more helpfully. "And these make them go forwards and backwards, and these make them shoot." She demonstrates that, but it is not in such a manner as to land a shot on the chest of Tarrant's robot, which is apparently where they need to land to score a hit. She does smile briefly in response to the comment about burgers being good for her, and makes a vague affirmative sound.
Clara scoots just a hint closer to Tarrant, casually slipping her scanner from
its place at her belt. She's still focused on the robots, really. No sense in
sending the poor man bouncing around the room again. "Ooooh, these are
-neat-," she enthuses. "Not like shooting each other at all. Then again,
water guns are awfully good for that," she admits, then pauses to look
thoughtful and slightly devious. Poor Riley. Hmmmm. That would be the scanner
clicking on. "Did you have a good time out and about getting dinner and these
fellas?"
Okay, proof if any were needed that Tarrant is out of it, if he's missing that
scanning is going on. He's not exactly a less than perceptive sort, usually.
However he's still playing with the robot, and is using it to attempt to push
a book off the table. Great, constructive, isn't he? "Water guns are a great
goodness in the universe, but these are just -fascinating-. Bang!" This last
is as he succeeds with the book.
Corian pauses a beat at Clara's question. "Well, the walk in the Quarter was nice," she says. And, yes, that's the honest truth. With a quirked smile, she adds, "I am glad you like them, cha'trez. They do make entertaining noises." She's really going to regret this purchase at some point, isn't she?
"Mmm, no, er...problems?" Clara tries to catch Corian's glance as she carefully scoots just back behind Tarrant and gestures at him with her chin. It's her quiet way of asking, did he go bonkers again? She attempts to scan the man in question, then snickers. "Good shot. What're their names?"
What? She doesn't regret it already? Tarrant has already found something else on the table to try and push off. Did you know those little cows really moo? "The noises are -great-," he enthuses in a bemused tone, intent on the problem solving involved in pitting machine against magazine. "Ooh, names...he glances to Corian, as if expecting her to know the answer to this.
Corian shakes her head briefly to Clara. "Not in that respect, no," she replies quietly. The question about a name draws a rather blank pause. No, she's far too tired to be naming robots. It's been too long a day. "I... perhaps it is on the box? I do not believe so, though, and I did not name them between the toy store and home." Alas, no, she let down poor Tarrant.
"Inky and Dinky?" Clara promptly suggests, but not without a relieved nod at
Corian before focusing on her scanner which gets waved past the back of
Tarrant's head. "Or Kapow and Bam." She pauses to snicker. "Hal and Defcon."
After a moment, a definite look of relief filters through her features. "My
friends, please, please tell me that your employers are going to let you
sleep and be layabouts for a week or two?"
"Hal and Defcon," Tarrant agrees, amiable enough that the robots have names, the source isn't required. He turns to offer Clara the remote he's holding, and startles at the scanner. He pulls himself together however quite neatly and continues to offer over the device. For some reason that last question brings him to seriousness. "It seems to depend. Conditions appear to be involved." And lo, he is not thrilled with whatever he's talking about.
Corian does not wince at the question, but her pleasant demeanor becomes rather
opaque, and not quite sincere. No, she's not especially thrilled, either. "We
will know more tomorrow," she says quietly, idly walking her robot backwards
and then forwards once more.
Clara gives Tarrant a rather apologetic look as she snaps off the scanner and reholsters it before accepting the remote with a flash of grin and peering over it before tapping at a control with one finger. Lurch. "Oooh, neat," she murmurs before looking up with a sudden seriousness. "I see. Please...if you can, try? Tarrant, you're convalescing. You desperately need rest. Corian, you're probably a little tired, too, I'm guessing?" She taps a control again to get another robotic lurch. "Can you tell me anything about what happened?"
"I intend to have some words with the department," Tarrant's tone is so light and casual, which takes some doing, since he intends to engage in rampant dismemberment. "Ahh," he considers a moment, looking to choose his words with care. "I think we learned a new lesson on being too trusting, maybe. I think." He looks sheepish. "My thinking being somewhat debatable right now."
Corian sets aside her remote control and reaches for one of Tarrant's hands,
casting a brief look of apology to him. She nods to confirm his words, adding
carefully, "It was a very... object lesson."
"Of course," Clara replies gently, obviously not dismayed, if a little
saddened. "In your line of work, that's just a professional safeguard," she
agrees understandingly, then ventures a quick grin. "Will you at least let me
scan you every couple days for the next few weeks, please, Tarrant? I need to
make sure you're not losing any phenylalanine."
You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.
"Sure, if they've not tossed me away on Leavenworth 4 by then," Tarant replies in a teasing tone, his fingers interlacing through Corian's as he squeezes her hand carefully. "And I'll try not to leave any lying around, or forget it in my pants pockets before sending them to laundry."
Corian returns Clara's grin with a brief smile, one that fades markedly at
Tarrant's teasing. See, she does know her husband. "Cha'trez," she starts,
before shaking her head. "Never mind," she murmurs. "You will do what is
best, I know. And if they are upset downstairs, well, perhaps it is for the
better." Glancing up once more, she says, perfectly deadpan, "We will put the
phenylalanine in a jar, if we find any, Clara."
Clara sobers again with a faintly startled look, glancing from one Czolgosz to the other. "-Leavenworth-?" she repeats with an air of foreboding. "Uh, okay." No, she doesn't ask, but does look fainly troubled. "If you leave that in your pockets or put it in a jar, I'll be worried," she adds, getting back on the safer track and attempting to poke Tarrant's shoulder lightly. "You're not really losing it. It was turning into tyrosine. That's bad."
Tarrant doesn't press the subject of what he may be doing to get tossed in
prison, he just goes with the general flow. He pauses however, his brows
furrowing, "It's changing into -tyrosine-? Does it have to dress as tyrosine
and live as tyrosine for a year before it's allowed to make the change
officially?" Tarrant is Sweden for phenylalanine?
Corian doesn't volunteer information on what Tarrant may be doing, either; even
though he hasn't even specified it to her in so many words, she at least has
a pretty good idea. She rubs her forehead for a moment with her free hand,
then blinks mildly at Tarrant for a moment before the utter bizarreness of
his comment strikes her. She bends down somewhat, covering her face with that
free hand as she dissolves into quiet laughter. Yes, some of it's probably
stress release, but, hey, that's better than yelling at people. No, wait, she
did that earlier.
Clara is a doctor at the Complex. She's probably assisted folks with such
transitions, much to her own well-suppressed amusement. So Tarrant's comment
only gets a quiet choking sound along with a solemn nod even if her eyes
betray her amusement. "Yes, as a matter of fact. We want to make -certain-
the phenylalanine is doing this right. Otherwise we'll have to take you down
to the Java Quarter and buy you an entirely new wardrobe. I'll bet you'd look
smashing in pink," she teases before finally giving in and snickering along
with Corian.
Tarrant just looks innocent. After all, he was for 78 years, it's not a hard condition to forget. Well, innocent and more than a little out of it. He settles against the couch's corner. It's not entirely mannerly, but zoned and the couch is soft. He figures Clara will probably forgive him for sluching in front of company. "Hey, as long as it's sure it's making the right decision with this tyrosine thing," he muses with a chuckle. "And only if I get pink spurs too, will I deign to wear pink." Pink spurs? Pimpdaddy Tarrant?
Corian does, mercifully, manage mostly to -stop- laughing. "Please," she asks
Tarrant, around the occasional sputter of laughter, "Please let me take
pictures? Emma would be thrilled, if I can locate her, and John... well, I
might even send such a picture to John. After all, the anniversary present
was nice." With a sudden smile to Clara, she adds, "You should help us try
it. It would be fun." Oh, dear. Fear that.
Clara doesn't mind in the slightest, and is even evil enough to attempt to ruffle Tarrant's hair like an obnoxious niece while sinckering. Well, great-grand niece, or something like that. "What, help you dress this man all in pink and take pictures? I'd do my level best, I promise. Will you even wear a tutu? Did this John person send you scary anniversary presents?"
Tarrant is apparently -really- gone to the world if he's agreeing to any of
this. "As long as there are spurs," he murmurs, his eyes sinking shut as the
couch greedily claims his soul. Dangitt, I hate it when that happens. "What's
a tutu?"
Corian pauses a moment in surprise at Clara's query. "Oh, dear. Well, if he would like that, of course, but I was referring to helping us try the anniversary gift from John. It is a board game, you see, and I think it will be more fun with more players." She claims her hand long enough to rummage in a drawer of the table, coming up eventually with, yes, a board game. It's a spy board game, in which the players try to be sneaky and such. "John sent it. I suppose it would be disturbing, but it seems entertaining as well, much more so than -some- things John has done." She rambles when she is overtired, and this is proof. She explains to Tarrant, as she sets the game on the table and snags his hand once more, "It is... pink." How helpful is that? "I had to wear one when I took a ballet class." She adds a bit of additional explanation in absent Kashidian, probably not all that helpful.
"A big floofy thing that ballerina's wear around their waists," Clara adds to
the description, grinning faintly at the addition in Kashidian as if this
were a reminder. "And playing a board game about spies sounds lots easier
than convincing Tarrant to wear a tutu when he's awake," she stagewhispers to
Corian. "But right now, I'm going to let -both- of you snooze, and I'm going
to go home myself and crawl in bed too. Call me if you need anything," she
adds in the expected mantra.
Entirely unhelpful indeed, since Tarrant is already asleep. Ah well, he agreed
didn't he? It would hold in a court of law at least, it simpley remains to be
seen if certain evil females will try and hold him to this semi-agreement to
be photographed in pink. It's such a -nice- couch.
Corian's expression softens quite a lot as she looks over and realizes that Tarrant is asleep. "Poor man," she murmurs, brushing lightly at his hair. "Such a difficult day." Yes, she still loves him, even after he informed an entire shuttlecraft that his name was Jeffrey. She looks over to Clara with a smile that, while brief, is decidedly warm. "Thank you for everything, Clara."
And this would be the perfect opportunity to dress Tarrant up so and snap the pictures. But Clara is kind, and merely climbs to her feet with a warm grin down at the snoozing one before transferring it to his wife. "Let me know if you need anything," she reiterates before heading for the door. "Goodnight."
Clara leaves the room.
Clara has left.
Corian gets to her feet as well, and, after judging the distance between the
couch and the bed, does her best to get you to stretch out on the couch,
apparently deciding that this is a better option than is trying to carry you
to the bed. That would just be bad.
Tarrant is stretchable outtable, and doesn't even so much as budge, let alone
awaken. He just snoozes. Snooze.
Corian snags a blanket and then curls up on the couch with you. Yes, it'll be a bit of a squeeze, but she's also not about to sleep alone after a day like today. And, as it -was- a particularly long and tiring day, she's asleep all but immediately, though she still clings to you just a bit in her sleep. Aww.