nadiathesaint | The roof, Thursday night

Nadia's hair was still wet from redying it, but it was finally warm enough out that she wasn't worried about it freezing on her, so she was on the roof.

She was sitting crosslegged by the edge with a packet of cookies and a small package she'd ~~completely frickin' handwaved~~ received from the post office that afternoon. She was staring at the package and singing softly to herself in Spanish.

It had been . . . a day. She couldn't say much more about it than that.

[ooc: open for your roof-ish needs]