Welcome to Gaia! ::

The fact that a peacefully 'sleeping' brother still remained in the room caused Mimsy to be even more cautious about the secrecy and security of 113, so she checked beneath the door to get a rough idea of who had just arrived. Context implied that the hint of red heels belonged to America - hopefully, at least - so she opened the door just a sliver to confirm this.

Upon seeing her, she opened the door enough to slip through, then closed it right behind her as she stepped into the hall. The only glimpses of the room that she left behind seemed to indicate that she had just been sitting in the dark.

She quietly looked her over, took in the change of makeup and general attire, and saw that she had actually thrown a large amount of cookies into a garbage bag. This all stirred up a lot of questions, naturally.

"Hello," she greeted her, with a crooked, vaguely pleasant smile. "Did you enjoy your leave? I trust that you found what you were looking for?"

She opted out of the question of 'who is in Mexico?' and any comments about her clothing, because she was trying very hard to practice what little she had learned about tact. But it hurt to stifle curiosity; she wasn't sure she could do this for long. The cookies were a good enough distraction, so she immediately latched on instead of waiting for an answer.

"I suppose that those are Robert's treats." Her smile looked a little less pleasant, but she still attempted to maintain it. "Thank you. It was kind of you to obtain them. Cravings can be such a distraction. How much do we owe you?"

This time she waited for an answer, head tilted to one side.

Ah, the delicate forms of regular humans. That was a sad fact that Mimsy knew very well, and the sympathy was evident in her frown and slow nod of camaraderie.

"Yes, they are such fragile things. It is truly such a pity." She sighed, exhaling a hint of nostalgia, and reached into one of her coat pockets. "I am sorry that it was not what you hoped for. Please accept this as my condolences for the loss of your planned leave. It is the least that I can do, when you have been so thoughtful with your choice of treats."

With another little smile, she extended a $50 bill - crisp this time, mysteriously.

Al heeded the call, regardless of how humiliating it might have been. He brushed the tarp aside to offer America a hungry wide-eyed stare. Not entirely just for his beloved Greggs.

"What do I owe ye?"

Jordan

America wrapped on 239 with a friendly shave and a haircut, a foil pan, still warm to the touch in hand. She'd waited to get these until last, though admittedly a bit hurriedly. Her Spanish was not so great having spent most of those classes trying to get detention, and wasn't sure if she was just really unwelcome in that particular neighborhood bar anymore, or if the cops had been called.

Cee

"Yooooooo!" America banged on B48. "Party in a bottle!"

Taym

Which explained why, when he opened it, he was momentarily nonplussed to find America standing there. But of course she wouldn't come barging in. It had always irritated the hell out of him that she did and he hoped, with a pang, that this wasn't a case of never again but simply of not right now.

He was smoking, and he propped his arm against the doorframe and leaned into it like he might have hovered over a shorter girl than America (an affected pose, too cool, with an air of predatory intimidation that suited him better than the cool did), but she had too much height on him even sans heels, which of course he noticed, and made it obvious that he noticed, eyes skating from her feet back up to her face with faint appraisal and not a shadow of appreciation. He had shaved, some time in the past couple of hours.

He wanted to ask her sarcastically if she'd had fun (his face did it for him). He wanted to take his loot and close the door in her face (the agitated drag of his cigarette said it). He said: "Did you manage to track down a flute band?" sorry i didn't notice this one and didnt want to bother you again over it so i just changed the word - liz

Taym

Whatever ready sass or irritation had been building up in a number of small, obvious shifts in posture and stance that followed his gaze up, fell away at the mention of her slight deviation from truth. For once it was America who looked away as she answered, "Yeah, it was no problem. The resort thing that new girl mentioned worked out easy as anything."

The girl held up a bag full of cigarette cartons and waggled it enticingly, "Stocking up for another power outage, or just making up for lost time?"