Cara had intended on taking a long, relaxing bath while looking over the pamphlets for tomorrow's class and trying to decipher what they were actually attempting to say. A futile task, but at least she could say she tried.

Of course, because the island hated her, she instead spent her evening trying to escape the now much larger bathtub and even longer trying to dry her fur.

Though, on balance, that probably still a better use of her time.

Cara hated this time of year. Hated it. And not just because of the fucking pollen.

So she was curled up under the covers in a grumpy, broody ball of annoyance, intent on ignoring everything and everyone.

[open to any who have a reason to be there]

The advantage of having your own place was that you could ensure the morning sun never got in your eyes, but that didn't stop Cara from pulling the blankets over her head when the room got far too bright, far too early.

"Make it go away," she whined, ever the height of maturity.

[For the girl.]

Cara had been on this island long enough to figure out what was coming this weekend (even if she was in denial about it), and as such she being incredibly mature and not leaving her apartment. She wasn't even going to leave her room if she could help it.

Though in a fit of contrariness, she'd locked the balcony door while leaving the front door unlocked. That should show certain people who she definitely wasn't thinking about as she pulled her blankets over her head.

See? Completely mature.

[For those who have a reason to be there.]

Cara was not having a good day. Yesterday had been...unpleasant, the incident at the Onsen being followed by fleeting, yet vivid apparitions of things she'd done, things done to her, and more appearances of that other version of herself, ready with a cutting comment, a quick fist, or a quicker agiel, the embodiment of an ideal Mord'Sith. Of course, that wasn't the worst of it, it wasn't like she hadn't learnt to endure either physical or verbal blows long before. The other other her, the nine year old who who didn't say a word but just stood there looking at her, that she'd had little defence against.

Then she'd woken up, and, well, given she'd spent years beating down and repressing every single scrap of her natural inclinations towards empathy and compassion as a survival tactic, it wasn't entirely a surprise that she'd ended up pressed defensively in a corner, back to the wall, hands against her temples in a futile attempt to keep some, any of it out.

That luggage had finally disappeared around midnight, but by then, Cara's mood was so shot that she was looking at a sleepness night.

It didn't help when in the middle of the night, she suddenly started hearing noises in the living area. She padded out, agiel in hand, only to find the television on and a group of guilty looking squirrels on the couch with the remote.

...chitter?

"It's not my birthday," she said flatly. "And when was I supposed to have registered this account?"

As a group, the squirrels pulled away from one of their number.

Cara sighed and sat down on the couch, picking up the remote, because there was no way she was getting back to bed now. "Leroy, do you want to end up like Tino?"

[Establishy, but can be open if you got a reason to be around or call.]

Cara's bed was at that perfect sweet spot between soft and firm, warm but not uncomfortably so, and she couldn't recall the sheets ever feeling more luxurious against her skin as she sprawled out along the mattress. Which of course was the problem, as there should have been far less sprawling and far more curling up against another warm body. Still half asleep, she patted along the empty half of the mattress, her frown deepening when she found it far too smooth and devoid of lingering body heat. She couldn't hear running water from the bathroom, or things being moved in the kitchen, and if she'd had to leave in a hurry, Surreal should at least have woken her first.

"Surreal?" she called out, just in case someone thought she was being funny again. As she sat up, her hand automatically fell on the agiel she kept within arms reach of the bed, its handle still and silent under her palm.

Fear curdled Cara's gut and ice ran up her spine as she stared down, her grip now white-knuckled, searching for any sign of the dark veins of magic that should have been spreading under and along her skin. Of the familiar pain that came with the agiel's touch, there wasn't even a dull, muffled echo, instead it was lifeless, just like when Richard had... "Surreal?"

[Open to anyone who might have any reason to be around]

The thing about not being able to cook bake worth a damn, was that when you got a craving for the nutcakes your girlfriend liked and there weren't any left, you had to go out and buy them. Naturally, there'd also been a sudden glut of customers, so she'd had to wait even longer, since she wasn't allowed to scare them off if she wanted to actually get served.

Still, she'd gotten what she'd gone out for, and now Cara was triumphantly closing the apartment door behind her, content in the knowledge she likely wouldn't have to deal with any more idiots in the near future.

[For she who knows who she is]

Chaperoning that dance last night had been a waste of her time in Cara's opinion, but given she hadn't been expected to do anything but watch, she was willing to concede it hadn't been entirely terrible. Now, having spend the day without any unwelcome interruptions, she sat sprawled out on the couch, flicking idly thorough take-out menus.

[For she that knows who she is]

Of all of Cara's favourite days of the year, today was most definitively not one of them, even without the added joy of sneezing every few minutes while wanting to all but tear her skin off.

Thankfully, with the power back on, she'd been able to take an extremely cold shower without worrying about freezing to death afterwards. Not that the icy spray had done much to soothe the heat and twitchiness under her skin, but at least it'd damped down the air enough that she hadn't sneezed in a full quarter hour.

Then she'd opened her door to find flowers outside it.

The yellow ones had gone out onto the balcony where they couldn't harm anyone in the time it'd taken to read the attached note, the roses on the other hand...

Letting out a (metaphorical) breath she wasn't sure hole long she'd been holding, Cara stomped into the kitchen to find a jug large enough to hold them, stomped over to the sink to fill it, then, glaring, carefully placed the flowers in it and put the whole thing down on the bench, before retreating over to the couch, the card still in her hands.

She was sneezing again. Well, it'd been nice while it lasted.

[Establishy, unless you have a reason to poke the grumpy. Not dirty.]