(no subject)
[After this.]
Mark Rosen's dorm room is a suite; two bedrooms and one central kitchenette-lounge. The young man who opens the front door at their knock is wearing an elderly t-shirt (bearing a picture of Bill Watterson's Calvin scowling furiously above the caption DON'T PISS ME OFF -- I'M RUNNING OUT OF PLACES TO HIDE THE BODIES), a pair of dark blue sweatpants, a serious case of bedhead, and a bleary just-woke-up expression.
He blinks at the card Jonathan shows him, and his eyes focus a bit more sharply; he introduces himself as Jeff, and steps aside to let them in.
Jeff leads them down the hall, past a door with a Beers Of The World poster on it -- "That's my room," he says with a vague gesture in its direction, "and this one's -- oh, hey Leland. Didn't know you were still here."
This last is directed at the current occupant of the second room, sitting at the computer desk and looking up at the three of them in the doorway with poorly concealed startlement.
"We got private investigators," Jeff confides in a tone that suggests he considers this likely to be the coolest thing to happen all day. "They're here to check out Mark's room, 'kay?" He turns and ambles back down the hall toward the kitchenette, and away from the ensuing moment of mutually awkward staring.
Mark Rosen's dorm room is a suite; two bedrooms and one central kitchenette-lounge. The young man who opens the front door at their knock is wearing an elderly t-shirt (bearing a picture of Bill Watterson's Calvin scowling furiously above the caption DON'T PISS ME OFF -- I'M RUNNING OUT OF PLACES TO HIDE THE BODIES), a pair of dark blue sweatpants, a serious case of bedhead, and a bleary just-woke-up expression.
He blinks at the card Jonathan shows him, and his eyes focus a bit more sharply; he introduces himself as Jeff, and steps aside to let them in.
Jeff leads them down the hall, past a door with a Beers Of The World poster on it -- "That's my room," he says with a vague gesture in its direction, "and this one's -- oh, hey Leland. Didn't know you were still here."
This last is directed at the current occupant of the second room, sitting at the computer desk and looking up at the three of them in the doorway with poorly concealed startlement.
"We got private investigators," Jeff confides in a tone that suggests he considers this likely to be the coolest thing to happen all day. "They're here to check out Mark's room, 'kay?" He turns and ambles back down the hall toward the kitchenette, and away from the ensuing moment of mutually awkward staring.