Room 406, evening

[izzyalienqueen]

After last night's festivities and working today, Isabel was ready for a quiet night in. She made herself a hot chocolate, minus the whipped cream because she was still semi-traumatized, then settled in to write a few more essays.

The door was open.

[OOC: Okay to say Ronan came by, conversation itself is NFB. Anyone else stopping by would be

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[hotceltogoth]

Ronan had spent much of the afternoon after his abortive lunch avoiding people. Everyone. Just... running. The preserve was good for that.

But now he was at Isabel's door, probably looking quite frazzled and upset, his eyes red from crying and his skin scratched by branches that he'd ignored in his haste. He stood there, not saying anything, unable to say anything, two threads all that kept him from falling into complete breakdown.

[izzyalienqueen]

Isabel had been focused in on the latest essay question, What literary or historical figure do you most identify with? when she suddenly realized there was someone at the door. A quick glance was all she needed to put the laptop aside and head over to the door to lead him into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"What's wrong?"

[hotceltogoth]

"She's dead," Ronan said, almost unresponsive, letting himself be led into the room, almost unnoticing. "She's dead," he repeated. "It's my fault. She's dead."

[izzyalienqueen]

"Who?" she asked quietly, leading him over to the bed. It was ironic in a way, in March she was the one being led. Isabel only hoped she could be as supportive and understanding as Jack and Parker had been for her.