Room 121, Thursday, lunchtime

[soldtoarmenians]

Xander, sitting at his desk and staring intelligently into space, occasionally tapping a finger against Jeremiah's tank, is trying to decide something very important.

Food?

Nap?

Food?

Nap?

__
[For the b-word-person. Sidling towards NWS]

Comments

[soldtoarmenians]

"Ahhhh. Clearly somebody up there wanted you to show up at my door nekkid and wet. It'd be wrong to disappoint them."

Xander sets about making the nekkid part literal instead of an exaggeration.

[bridge-carson.livejournal.com]

"My sentiments exactly," Bridge says, now that there's literal nekkidness. On his part, anyway.

[soldtoarmenians]

Xander peels off his t-shirt. For fairness and equality and stuff.

He pauses, jeans half unzipped, to ask, "Hey, don't you have workshop soon?"

[bridge-carson.livejournal.com]

"Whatshop?" Bridge asks intelligently.

[soldtoarmenians]

Xander blinks at him, then snickers without strikethrough even and gets on with the jeans getting-off. Which is usually a prelude to the other kind. Unless you're in Wilderness Survival, apparently.

"Workshop," he says as he pins Bridge to the bed. "Class. Activity. Thingy."

[bridge-carson.livejournal.com]

"This is an activity..." Bridge points out.

[soldtoarmenians]

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