Catherine heads upstairs softly, treading noiselessly on the carpet, and taps on the door.

"Sara?"

[ooc: Millitimed to last night and locked to lvpd_sidle.]

"Here, Bar, can you take this?" Catherine has pen and paper in hand, and with them all she writes

( a note )

Bags thunk down by the front door, sunglasses dropped on the table. No messages on the answering machine, a note from her mother about Lindsey at a friend's house (will be back by six, I've gone shopping, bring in the paper and water the plants). Remainders of breakfast stuffed inside the fridge, crumby plates lying out on the counter ( Read more... )

Lying in a hospital, swathed in white sheets, tubes out every orifice. Apparently it's a CSI thing.

Catherine's awake and awaiting visitors, if so inclined.

[ooc: Millitimed to later tonight, because Mun will be gone from three o'clock or so onwards... Slowtime in effect until tomorrow or so. <3]

Lindsey can't sleep. Again.

So she trundles downstairs in her nightie, rubbing at her eyes, and ends up sitting at the foot of the stairs--curled up in a little ball, blond head leaning against the wall, looking like she needs a hug very, very much.

[ooc: Millitimed to late Thursday night.]

( It gets worse )

( ...you can only break yourself against the law )

[ From Lindsey: A knobbly picture frame covered in seashells, macaroni, buttons, sparkly jewels and beads, and anything else glue-sticky little fingers can paste on, and a card done in scribbled markers with a big happy face and loads of balloons: "Happy birthday Sara!!!! from Lindsey".

From Catherine: A copy of this book and a copy of that book, ( Read more... )