(Untitled)
Candice has been slowly (and stealthily) filling up her suite...and some of Martel's...with clothing, various objects or what have you, that she might need. Some of it, however, is not really suitable for being kept in bedrooms, and while she hasn't got those sensitive objects quite on hand at the moment, she has decided to acquire space for them
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Martel actually is in there--possibly he's been in there since yesterday, actually, judging by his state of dishevelment when he opens the door and for a moment blinks at her as though he's not entirely sure what he's looking at. (Sometimes it takes him a few moments to realign himself with the rest of the world.)
"Candice," he says, helpfully.
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"Hello," she greets him mildly, amused, "Should I welcome you back to reality?"
She is dressed almost how she's usually dressed, but instead of boots she has on little black beaded ballet slippers. It's one concession of many on her path to making this place her home, in lieu of being, as he put it wryly, 'a guest.'
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His expression twists from blank incomprehension to wry amusement and he opens the door wider, into the anteroom that precedes the several attached that are more securely kept separate. "No, that's quite all right." He wipes his hands off on his shirt and leans down to kiss her, briefly.
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She arches up onto her toes to make that kiss less than brief, tugging at his shirt lightly when she does ease back. "Are you very busy?"
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