Room 505, Sunday Evening
So Katchoo wasn't in the mood to go to Fight Club tonight.
Funny, that; apparently she'd gotten a good chunk of her Need To Hit Things out of her system this week. Okay, maybe not, but somehow it just didn't have its usual appeal tonight.
She was sprawled on her bed instead, a sketchbook open in front of her to a page that was blank and had been blank for the past several hours, Ani DiFranco on the tape player stereo and a bottle of Jack Daniels on the nightstand. Pretty comfortable setup for a good, sullen brood.
Good times -- she didn't even notice when Clocky wheeled over to the slightly ajar door and nudged it open a few inches further.
[OOC: Door and post open, should you wish to poke the Happy Fun Chewieball. May be patches of SP because my headache won't go away.]
Funny, that; apparently she'd gotten a good chunk of her Need To Hit Things out of her system this week. Okay, maybe not, but somehow it just didn't have its usual appeal tonight.
She was sprawled on her bed instead, a sketchbook open in front of her to a page that was blank and had been blank for the past several hours, Ani DiFranco on the tape player stereo and a bottle of Jack Daniels on the nightstand. Pretty comfortable setup for a good, sullen brood.
Good times -- she didn't even notice when Clocky wheeled over to the slightly ajar door and nudged it open a few inches further.
[OOC: Door and post open, should you wish to poke the Happy Fun Chewieball. May be patches of SP because my headache won't go away.]