Room 406, Not so damn early for a Xander

But it's probably less than surprising that at three in the afternoon, he was just coming out of the shower, hair dripping, dressed in sweats and an old t-shirt because they were the nearest clean thing to the bathroom when he headed that way after sleeping in... kinda late.

Kinda hard, too, hard enough to miss the radio. A little less restlessly than the night before, though -- which could lead unastute observers of the species harris xandificus to assume he'd managed to come to some sort of accord with whatever restless twitch had prompted his absence yesterday -- but those who've, like, met him would probably catch on that he pretty much just managed to tire himself out completely, brain included. Not that the last one is exactly a difficult proposition.

Now, though, he was looking for clothes that he could wear, oh, outside the room. For instance to an Investigators' Club meeting tonight.

Xander reached into his closet for his favorite rusty-orange button-up to throw on over the tee, and found... nothing. Hangar empty. Buh? He knew he'd washed it in the load on Thursday, but just in case, he checked his basket of dirty laundry. Nope. Not on the chair or accidentally kicked under the bed, either. Closet again: not on the floor, not shoved behind other clothes... And hey, his brown jacket was missing too!

The hell?

He started sorting through the pile of random crap fallen clothes at the bottom of the closet again, just in case, but it looked like they'd completely disappeared.
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{Door's open, or, well, not locked - just if you stop in, try to avoid clueing him in about the play, since it'd probably be funnier if that happened with multiple people around.}