Welcome to Gaia! ::

Prior to the island-wide exposure to Revenge, Stormy spent her time getting her things together, buying a few new ones to add, and overall cleaned up what had been a mostly organized but somewhat dusty-floored room. Gale was away on some new mission which was perfect timing, as now she could move in, get everything settled, and then welcome him back in her new pad. The one she hadn't earned.

With some awkward Twittering abound (her cheer easy to fake through texts) and a question reclining like a cat at the back of her mind (who should she give the room to?), the plan had been set. In the late morning one message was sent out to those who had offered to help:



Thank God for the mass compendium of numbers constantly being updated; Ever's hadn't been hard to find. In the meantime she began checking around for other articles of trash to toss away, astounded by the amount of crumpled paper balls hidden under her bed.

Lex received the text with a groan, having just woke up himself. More nightmares had been penetrating his sleep recently, clammy and alone with a thin sheet to support him. The contents made him perk up a bit, seeing as it was from his favorite daughter Mist. A quick shower and three mugs of coffee, a fresh set of clothes, and a practiced smile were all he needed before the stubble sporting man knocked on Stormy's door.

"Stormy? It's Lex."

The door opened and Stormy had a bright smile of her own to greet them. "Hi! Oh, uh, don't worry about the boxes," she added sheepishly as she saw Roland's catch. "I scrounged some up beforehand. But how thoughtful!" Rather, she had done a lot more than just that in the time between the Twitter messages and now, which probably excused the delay. She wanted to make this as easy on her volunteers as possible.

She opened the door wider and invited the trio to come inside. Trainee rooms weren't exactly spacious to begin with (and the second bed certainly ate some room up), but Stormy had cleaned out everything she thought valuable and stuck them in labeled boxes of varying sizes: clothes, personal items, unfinished reports and other miscellany, tech, more clothes, shoes, one simply labeled "Nevada." Both beds had their sheets folded and their pillows next to them. Leaning against the wall was a long, simple skid. Next to it was a converted digital piano and a padded stool.

"Thanks again for coming, guys," Stormy said. "Between us it won't take but a few trips! There are water bottles on the dresser if you need any, and like I said, I'll pay you guys back once we're done. Any questions?" She had decided against asking how either Lex or Roland were doing; those questions would come later once the work was done and she could relax.

He preferred to call it fashionably late.

Otto jogged up to the room, panting lightly as he let himself inside. "Sorry.." Otto murmured, looking like he'd rolled right out of bed. He'd slept in, or perhaps had a nap that lasted much too long.

He pointedly ignored the side of the room Nevada used to occupy, focusing on the group that was there.

Ever took Roland's hand with a tired sort of smile, flat and unconvincing, his eyes sweeping over the rest of them. Perhaps another day, he would have been all cheery jokes, poking fun, strangers or no. Instead he'd take hands and blink at them, nodding at Roland, and quickly turning his focus onto Stormy.

No offense intended. They just weren't why he was here today.

"Where are you moving to? I mean. Upstairs, but...number?" He asked the question as he slid away to grab a box, and then paused to offer her a hand, as well. "Uh, and sorry, nice to meet you as well."

Otto gave the other men a look, and said nothing. No greeting, no nod. Nothing. He was here to help Stormy. That was all.

He was surprised to hear her room was right across from his own. That made navigating back and forth a lot easier on him. The teen, keen on showing off his upper body strength from years of wielding a six foot boomerang, piled a few boxes on top of each other and carried them out the door.

He felt confident. He knew where he was going.

It wasn't exactly laziness that made Ever only pick up one box, so much as it was an old familiarity: others might be used to their strength by now, but to Ever it was still a novelty. He wasn't used to lugging around piles of things, to being able to lift as much as he could now. It'd only occur to him as a problem when he fell into step next to Roland, to follow him wherever the room was -- because, really, out of all of them, he was the most familiar face.

Of course, once he saw other people lugging mountains of boxes, Otto who seemed barely legal half-hidden under a pile of them, he could have taken more.

He didn't.

"I feel strangely outclassed right now." That was a bit more like himself: faintly amused, distractedly so, as he took in the rest of them.

"Be fair to yourself, Mr. Ever!" she chirped as she went up the stairs. "All of us have been here for a while so we're used to it; plus the higher in rank you go, the easier you'll find things. It helps that Otto and I handle heavy weapons, too."

Room 221's door was already open by the time they reached it. Next to the number plate was a little sticky note with a big b; under the plate was another sticky note that read Baker Street.

Still seeming oblivious to the awkwardness, Stormy gingerly dropped Nevada's things by the opposite wall without fuss. "So, how has everyone been?" she asked as she turned to get more boxes. "That last mission was . . . fun after all, huh?"