Room 418, Tuesday night

Door is standing by the window, watching a pigeon fly away. This is fairly usual for her, though the slightly sour, suspicious look on her face isn't. Might have something to do with the fact that she's sent Chimney out five times tonight and every time the message attached contained any variation of ( this )

, she'd ended up with an armful of flappy, confused robot bird (//Bounced off the sky!//) and no letter home.

The last one, the one she's watching finally wing its way up and off the island, reads simply:

School is possibly turning into a prison really annoying not letting me complain about it fine. No news here, unless you care that I kissed a small furry person of indeterminate gender. Same there? Keep safe, Door


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[OOC: Establishy, but open until sleep eats me.]