Room 505, Laaaaaate Wednesday Night/Early Thursday Morning

[thismaskiwear]

It was not a morning in which waking up, much less getting out of bed, held any appeal whatsoever for Katchoo. Neither was about to happen at the moment, not when staying curled up with Francine was an option.

Which is what she was, lost in a pleasant sleepy haze completely free of dreams -- no clocks, no crazy cartoon versions of herself, no inexplicably hostile chipmunks, no fog, no storms in Hawaii. It was rare, and it was nice, and she was going to enjoy the hell out of it while it lasted.

[OOC: For that girl in bed with her, and NFB.]

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[thatsamilkshake]

"Katchoo, pan--" Francine looked up from the desk where she'd grabbed her phone, staring to punch numbers as she spoke. "...Oh. Good. You remembered. Good job."

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

"Give me a gold star for -- quit it!" Katchoo snapped over Clocky's next set of beeps and from somewhere halfway under the bed; the little wheeled demon-thing was bumping into her feet, now. "-- for it later."

She squirmed back out from beneath the bed with one shoe triumphantly clutched in her hand and the other . . . nowhere in sight, at least from her vantage point.

Clocky made a raspberry-like noise and zipped toward the closet, beeping as if to say there, you idiot, nyeah to the shoe's twin, wedging the closet door (oy, closets) ajar.

Katchoo jammed her foot into the one shoe and shuffled over to retrieve and put on the other one. No point in bothering to fix her hair or anything.

"So help me, this had better be good."

In this case, 'good' was extremely relative.