Room 201, Sunday Afternoon
Rosalind was, perhaps, one of the few people on the island that actually enjoyed going through reports and organizing them into some semblance of coherency. Let it not be said that her fellow Turks were pinnacles of penmanship, sentence structure, and had mastered ability to chronologically tell a tale with a minimum of side-tracking.
Because most of them were evidently the furthest thing from that.
Truly, Rosalind could not blame Tseng for sending her these reports to review and organize. And she did not want to blame him either. She was enjoying it, as she read through another poorly written missive and typed out the salient bits on to her laptop.
It was-nice-feeling useful. Busy. And Rosalind was in a good mood as she worked.
[Open door, open post.]
Because most of them were evidently the furthest thing from that.
Truly, Rosalind could not blame Tseng for sending her these reports to review and organize. And she did not want to blame him either. She was enjoying it, as she read through another poorly written missive and typed out the salient bits on to her laptop.
It was-nice-feeling useful. Busy. And Rosalind was in a good mood as she worked.
[Open door, open post.]