Room 522, Monday Morning
Stephanie woke up to two things this morning: an email from Bruce with about five dozen attached case files and articles and very demandy instructions about how she was expected to read everything thoroughly and send him a report of all her conclusions, and a mild but vaguely familiar sense of . . . well, restlessness, let's just put it that way.
The second thing, she could already tell, was going to be the total opposite of conducive to accomplishing the first.
With a quiet groan, she rolled over and put her pillow over her head, and until absolutely the last not-going-to-be-late-for-class second possible she was just going to stay right here, thank you very much, and write off productivity for the day.
She'd come up with an excuse to give Bruce later, because some things you just did not share with your boss. Nope.
[OOC: Door closed, post open.]
The second thing, she could already tell, was going to be the total opposite of conducive to accomplishing the first.
With a quiet groan, she rolled over and put her pillow over her head, and until absolutely the last not-going-to-be-late-for-class second possible she was just going to stay right here, thank you very much, and write off productivity for the day.
She'd come up with an excuse to give Bruce later, because some things you just did not share with your boss. Nope.
[OOC: Door closed, post open.]