(Untitled)

[not_one_drop]

It's morning.

Mal's in a bed.

Mal's in a bed with someone else.

Mal's in a bed with Sands.

"...morning."

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[rigthegames]

His eyes snap open.

Blink.

“What in the name of hell are you doing here?”

[not_one_drop]

"Sleeping."

Or. Well. She was.

[rigthegames]

“In my bed?”

Sands stares, and then frowns, and then goes:

“Ah”

as he recalls the previous night.

[not_one_drop]

"Mmm-hmm."

She's happy now. It's all warm and fairly cozy and she'd really just prefer to stay here.

[rigthegames]

Well, that’s just fine.

Sands, meanwhile, sits up, yawning and rubbing at a crick in his neck, and heads through into the bathroom without so much as a backward glance.

[not_one_drop]

Oh.

Well, that's just vaguely offensive. Mal captures the pillow and curls up with it, watching the door intently.

[rigthegames]

It’s… a door. A fine door, but a door nevertheless. And so full of doorish attributes, such as having a handle (a fine handle, for sure) and being, unfortunately, solid wood.

Very solid wood indeed.

[not_one_drop]

She watches this fine, solid wood door.

It's interesting.

[rigthegames]

It’s not much of a conversationalist.

What with being a door and all.

[not_one_drop]

Indeed.

Could be she's interested in what's behind the door.

[rigthegames]

Could be she is.

Could be the only way to see what’s behind the door is by opening it.

It is still, you understand, very much opaque.

[not_one_drop]

But it is the door to the bathroom.

One does not just open such a thing.

[rigthegames]

Does not one?

What a pity.

(the doorknob is very fine, after all)

[not_one_drop]

Sands will come out eventually.

Hopefully.

[rigthegames]

Unless he’s climbed out of the window.

(but the narrative is sure he would not do such a thing)

[not_one_drop]

He probably hasn't.

The narrative believes that the other narrative is stalling, and wonders why.