http://actionlaced.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] actionlaced.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] uisgeannan2011-08-20 01:17 pm

(no subject)

Despite being utterly exhausted Euri could tell this entire situation was awkward. But, unfortunately, three nights of almost no sleep was drowning out her common sense, and it had no intention of stopping until she got a decent amount of rest. It was what had pushed her to climb out of bed, make her way up the stairs to the nearly empty fourth floor in her polka-dotted nightgown, and stop in front of Robin's room. She had resisted it in the beginning, of course, because she was stubborn. She didn't need anyone's help falling asleep, even Dog's. It was just a simple process that her stupid body would eventually pick up on; in addition, it would also realize that all those nightmares about ghosts and possessions and undead things weren't helping, and would cut them out.

It was three in the morning after three nights of sleeplessness when she finally gave up. She was so tired that embarrassment barely even crossed her mind. She simply stared down at the doorknob until her brain processed the fact that it was most likely locked, then continued along a rational path of unlocking it via hex. A few songlike words tumbled from her lips (not normally necessary, but she wasn't in the clearest state of mind), and she heard a tiny click that signaled the door was now hexed and completely unlockable until the spell was reversed. Knocking never occurred to her.

Euri stepped into the room. Even though it was dark just knowing the presence of all that scrawled writing on the walls made her shiver, and she was quick to dart on her toes to Robin's bed and crawl under the covers.

[identity profile] birdmetaphor.livejournal.com 2011-08-22 04:59 am (UTC)(link)
"I know." That's all he says on the matter. Morally grey is too orderly--he likes to think of it as morally improvising. If Vincent were here, he'd understand. To the rest of them, well... they're preventing a potential disaster, a death, or worse--a possession. That's fair grounds for a little theft. The lesser of two evils.

But a few days? That throws a wrench in an otherwise piece-of-cake plan. "What, you can't just look at a little of it?" he asks, craning his neck back. He wonders if he could do it. "My kingdom for a biochemical scientist."

He can't remember the last time he met one, actually. The Third World scientists barely qualified as scientists, let alone specialists. And no one here has really boasted about their abilities in this particular field...

The whole thing it'd have to be, then. "We can swap it with a replacement, a replica. As for how... I could probably just sneak into his room, right?"

[identity profile] birdmetaphor.livejournal.com 2011-08-22 02:52 pm (UTC)(link)
That expression... he knows he's making her more and more embarrassed. It's all in good fun, at least in his mind, and he hopes she won't hold it against him for too long. It prompts him to reach out and brush some of her hair so that it lays flat against the side of her head (sleeping on it made it a little messy, after all).

"Easy." Nodding, he goes for a compromise, "I'll try getting just that much first." That seems the safest, in case Adel should actually need that stuff for something. "And then if you need more, I'll just swap them properly. I don't think he'd ever notice either way."

[identity profile] birdmetaphor.livejournal.com 2011-08-22 08:05 pm (UTC)(link)
"This will be good practice, then."

He doesn't seem too phased by Euri's doubt in her own abilities. Right now, he's focused more on the chance at a challenge. It sounds like it'll be fun.

"Tonight, then," he settles, taking his hand back, settling up against the wall once more.

[identity profile] birdmetaphor.livejournal.com 2011-08-22 11:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Robin wasn't expecting that. He looks back at her, a little dumbstruck with surprise, hand moving halfway up to his face before he becomes acutely aware of his own movement again. The hand drops back down towards the bed.

"Just--just don't make this a habit," he says, the only comeback he could think of. His smile is poorly hidden, threatening to break through the cracks of an otherwise relaxed and collected composure.

Finch used to do that. It's all he can really get through his mind. Finch used to do that.