The House of the Arch

Outside the open window, there is a pigeon flying off with a note: De Carabas: Still well, if witness to the occasional mutiny and the trauma of former princesses. Though we're still attending summer classes, we've moved back to the dormitories (room smelled oddly of cow today), and only go out to the campgrounds for class now. Am off to Scotland for the weekend - Above, but not our Above. Perfectly safe except perhaps for the vampires.

...also, aliens blew up the school. I may have forgotten to mention that in my previous letter. Keep well, and send news if you have it. yrs, Door, House of Arch

Inside the open window, there is a girl sitting on the sill, enjoying the non-cow-scented breeze.
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[OOC: Open for a few hours, at least, until I give in and crash!]

This time, if someone were to peek over Door's shoulder, they'd see her finishing up ( the lamest linkdrop ever. )

They'd be especially bored, if they did, though.

Every so often she glances distrustfully at a row of socks tacked to the bulletin-board behind her desk with pencils. They're not moving, no, but they might.
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[OOC: Open like a not-closed item.]

Door's studying for Driver's Education. She's not debating whether putting Seely's things in the hallway is actually more trouble than he's worth. She's not that petty.

Mostly. Even if she probably did build up enough good karma last week by helping to find and rescue Bridge and Z, that she can afford a little pettiness.
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[OOC: For Teh No Longer Drunk Or Irish Roomie]

Door doesn't brood, despite the fact that lying on your bed with your chin on your hands staring at nothing might look like brooding. It's a waste of time, doesn't make things better and it certainly doesn't make you feel better when you're unhappy.

But what's been -- aside from a certain best-forgotten adventure in the library -- a ( great week ) fetched up on a sour note last night.

It bothers her, this idea of losing a sense you've had since you were tiny. She can imagine being dead more easily -- too easily -- than she can imagine being ... blinded, like that. Yet she keeps trying to wrap her mind around it, and that bothers her too, but there's got to be a reason for it.

So it's not brooding. It's productive. She just doesn't know what it's producing yet.

[Locked to connernotconnor, lest my brain go splodey. You wouldn't want that all over your friendslist. Icky icky ptang, no.]

There's a journal open on the table next to Door's bed. It would say, if you were peeking at it: ( this. )

But you wouldn't do that.

Door isn't peeking at it either, at the moment. She's hanging her head upside down off the end of her bed and reading her notes on Starling and Dragon, trying to finalize her ideas for the presentation in Miss Poppins' class on Monday. The room-door's open, because she likes hearing people wander past in the hallway, and the occasional snatches of holiday music from someone else's open door.

[OOC: Quite open! *goes back to adding the million tags that happen when you wait three weeks to do a linkdrop*]

Door's sitting at the head of her bed, laptop propped against her knees, scrolling Project Gutenberg and still not quite out of the state of awe inspired by the idea of an entire library that can somehow fit inside the wee box on her lap, when there's a tapping at the window.

She looks up, sets the computer aside, and smiles when she sees what's on the other side of the glass. "There you are! I'd been wondering if you got lost!" she says when she's got the window open, and holds out her hand for the pigeon to step into it.

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[For the roomie, but open to other visitors as well.]

Door, still three quarters asleep, stumbles from her bed in her nightclothes (a pair of athletic shorts and a Fandom High t-shirt just long enough to make the shorts somewhat pointless) heading for the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face and hopefully wake up a bit more before seeking out breakfast.

Of course, 'stumble' pales in comparison to the sheer gymnastic grace of the maneuver she performs when her feet come in contact with an unexpected body (and only the lack of time to react stops her from worrying about that, given previous history) lying on the floor of her room.

Meaning she goes flying, and lands face-first in Seely's bed.

Which...isn't empty.

"Erf..." Door says after a moment, trying to untangle herself. "Er. Hi."

As much as she likes to explore and meet new people, Door found herself a bit worn out from talking to so very many of them in Constant Vigilance on Friday. Thus after her shopping trip to town with people she was at least a bit more familiar with, a weekend spent mostly in her room (aside from Saturday evening, when she'd handwavily taken a wander up to the roof to read in order to let Seely have his movie night with... someone she hasn't met yet) had proved a relaxing change.

Having not quite got as far as learning how to find the World Wide Web by herself in internet class on Wednesday, and with her meeting for Sunday tea with Walter temporarily cancelled, Door spent quite a bit of said weekend poking at the computer on her own -- in between studying for the first real lesson in Cross-Species Communication, and enjoying the fruits of having finally discovered the library. She's not entirely sure about her chances of being chosen as a library aide considering the next-to-nothing she knows about the way this library is arranged, but hopefully the fact that she's trying to learn more will help with that. And even if it doesn't, it should help her find things for herself, so there's really no bad there.

Now, though, Door's getting a bit restless. She's lying on her bed with the laptop, already dressed in some of the new clothes she bought on Friday, and still diligently trying to hunt, peck and click her way past the school website without getting lost on the ever-branching number of paths the internet seems to offer, but she's left the door to the room open, glancing up every so often to see if anyone's wandering past, and pondering the idea of taking a wander herself. Possibly back to London to see if de Carabas has sent some sort of reply, but she's not sure how safe that is, so she might wait a few more days to try that one.

[OOC: The door is.... oh come on. I refuse to say it. The post, however, is totally ajar.]