A Room at the Arms Hotel, Sunday Evening
So, February was fired. Officially. Out of a cannon and into the sun, if Warren had any say in the matter. What had apparently been a few days since Valentine's Day for everyone else had, for Warren and Karla, only been a matter of the worst hour-long Portalocity stopover ever. Warren was forever going to be wary of pit stops in 'historic London,' now, considering he and Karla had spent theirs in the middle of The Blitz.
With zombies.
They were tired, they were filthy with dust and smoke and the guts of the exploded undead, and, so far as they were concerned, it was still the same day as that whole mess in the Orpheum in Wesley's insane reality. There was no way in hell he was going to brave another stopover like that without a good night's sleep first, so he'd gotten a hotel room after the stop in Fandom to drop off Karla. Needless to say, a break for the shower had been made, with Karla and Warren cleaning one another off. And then there had been food while they dried off, Karla in her bathrobe and Warren wearing a towel. A few towels, actually, since he'd covered his wings in them in an attempt to spare too many puddles on the floor.
Now that the both of them felt a fair bit more human, Warren was going to finally look up at Karla and say what had been hanging between them for hours. Or days. It really depended on how you looked at it.
"I owe you an apology. I... owe you one hell of an apology."
[For the lady!]
With zombies.
They were tired, they were filthy with dust and smoke and the guts of the exploded undead, and, so far as they were concerned, it was still the same day as that whole mess in the Orpheum in Wesley's insane reality. There was no way in hell he was going to brave another stopover like that without a good night's sleep first, so he'd gotten a hotel room after the stop in Fandom to drop off Karla. Needless to say, a break for the shower had been made, with Karla and Warren cleaning one another off. And then there had been food while they dried off, Karla in her bathrobe and Warren wearing a towel. A few towels, actually, since he'd covered his wings in them in an attempt to spare too many puddles on the floor.
Now that the both of them felt a fair bit more human, Warren was going to finally look up at Karla and say what had been hanging between them for hours. Or days. It really depended on how you looked at it.
"I owe you an apology. I... owe you one hell of an apology."
[For the lady!]