I am the passenger

After the adventure of the gig in Baltimore, Nadia wanted nothing more than to just flop over onto her bed with her cat and sleep for the rest of the weekend. Unfortunately, while she got the flop and the cat right, the sleep just wasn't coming.

It felt like everything that had happened the last two weeks was storming into her brain, demanding attention. ( And it was quite a lot to think about )

She stuck her pillow over her head to avoid just staring at the ceiling and hoped sleep might find its way to her anyway.

[ooc: linkdrop, eventually, but also open if anyone else is up and bored right now.]

Nadia knew her friends were worried about her. She knew they thought she was losing it over the whole Sloane thing. She'd heard them talking about it in the workshop that morning.

And maybe they were right. She had been panicking and she hadn't been in anyway useful the last two days. But talking to Alfred and then getting the message from Jamie and finding him on the floor had changed that.

She headed down to the weapons locker and opened it up, quickly putting on her shoulder holster under her loose jacket and tucking her glock inside. She looked it over quickly for anything else she could use and grabbed a few knives as well. Like she'd told River: she wasn't planning much. Just getting rid of Sloane once and for all.

She'd even called Walter to let him know. See? She was all better, now. . . .

[ooc: open to anyone who might be around to see her at the weapons closet looking rather pissed.]

Nadia wobbled into the cabin and flopped over into bed.

Okay, so it technically wasn't her bed, but, well, it practically was, these days.

"I liiiiiiiiiiike the blue dr'nk."

Nadia walked slowly into her room, letting the door fall shut behind her and let out another breath.

Then she turned and punched the door.

ow.

She slid down to the floor, tucking her arms around herself between her chest and her knees, and tucked her head down.

( Today had not been her best day, ever )

All she'd wanted was to know that Walter was okay. That's it. Was that that much to ask?

What's wrong, Angel of Death? You don't look so good.

What had happened? What did they do to him?

What wasn't Pippi telling her?

No way to know.

She flexed her hand, and her knuckles protested loudly.

Well, almost no way. She'd promised Pippi she wouldn't hurt herself to try and get a dream. And she hadn't. Not on purpose.

Right?

Ow.

Nadia stayed where she was, curled up on the floor, wondering how she was ever going to get to sleep.

[ooc: weeee linkdrop. Open, should anyone still be up and might have heard the door punching, or not. Whatever.]

Nadia lounged on the floor near her bed, her guitar perched on her lap. She would have loved to be playing on the roof, but suspected fig pudding would not be good for her guitar.

She played a song that she'd heard from a traveling band on a sailboat back in Argentina. Unfortunately, she couldn't quite remember all the ( lyrics )

Forutnately, the lyrics weren't that complicated. Because the chording was, a little.

As she quietly sang the flute part, she thought over the events of the day. Photography had gone really well, though lunch had been a bit odd, and the Entertainment workshop had been a bit of a fiasco. Now she had detention, which really, really sucked. Then there was following "Fishgrenade" all over the place, which had at least ended well, hence her possibly disgustingly good mood.

She was going to want to have words with Artie, though. Making her think her roommate and boyfriend had gone insane.

[ooc: open to those who knock]

Nadia pulled out her notebook again and ( started drawing )

[ooc: second verse, loooooooooonger than the first!]

What was the best way to top off the worst week ever?

How about pissing off one of your best friends and ending up with a crepe in your lap?

And then rampaging through your room, possibly almost breaking your foot, and screaming on the roof?

No, that wasn't enough. Not at all. You had to get into another argument with said friend and then not even be able to hide away because your roommate had somehow managed to turn your room into party central.

Nadia wrapped her arms around herself and walked, head down, staring at the ground.

[ooc: feel free to come by, but be prepared to be emoed or snarked at if you do.]

Nadia had the following pages marked in her yearbook.

Jack's birthday party
the Morality bot
The day the dangershop went crazy
Haiku day!
The School Play
The Anti-Emo Tea Party
Prom!
Wee!Tiny Weekend

She also has the pages for Shop and Foreign Lit marked off. But not Chemistry. She'd like to forget Chemistry, really.

Nadia was sleeping very, very late. Being emo was exhausting. Being really cheerful and silly to help counteract the emo of others was even more exhausting, at times, though a great deal more fun than being emo.

Nadia had done both in the last couple of weeks, and thus was exhausted.

Also, the longer she slept, the less time she would have to worry about the fact that she'd somehow agreed to go to prom as a boy and that when it came down to it, she had no one else to blame because it was kind of technically her idea in the first place.

Her dreams were very pleasant ones, involving winning lottery numbers, a warm beach, cabana boys (that looked rather a bit like Walter) and cabana girls (that kind of resembled Ivanova?), mixed alcoholic beverages, and--once she'd slept through the morning announcements--pudding.

Occasionally, she would wake up, look at the clock, realize she had nowhere she had to be, then roll over and go back to sleep.

Ahhhhh, Friday.

[ooc: will eventually be a link drop, assuming I ever get around to hunting down the links]

Nadia stumbled into her room again. It had been another fun day, what with the spice racks in shop and the playing guitar on the beach and the animal balancing and all.

Her hand ached, and her neck was slightly stiff from holding it still this evening, so she flopped over onto her bed again.

This time, there was no uproarious giggling, just quietly petting her kitty, so as not to have her feet attacked again.

"Hey, Furrball,"

"Mew?"

Nadia smiled softly. "Soy casero."

Furrball didn't speak Spanish, but he heard the wonder in Nadia's voice, so he rubbed his head against her chin.

She grabbed him in a gentle pounce and pulled him up to her chest.

"Soy casero," she repeated. "I'm home."