Room 317, 7/8, Saturday Evening
Tempe sat on the floor in her and Z's room, papers spread all around her on the floor. One might ask how she'd managed to accumulate quite so many sheets of notes at a time of year when there weren't any classes. One would then have to realize that Tempe is a writer. A very prolific one.
Among these sheets of paper were the story she was working on, her research notes, several recipes, a few pictures she hadn't been able to include in her scrapbook, and a rough sketch of a dragon (which, considering her drawing skills, she was unlikely to admit had been drawn by her).
Looking at the pile of stuff still sitting next to her that needed to be sorted, she sighed. She was going to be here for awhile.
[OOC: Open for interaction! Come point and laugh, or perhaps rescue her from paper-sorting-related fatigue.]
Among these sheets of paper were the story she was working on, her research notes, several recipes, a few pictures she hadn't been able to include in her scrapbook, and a rough sketch of a dragon (which, considering her drawing skills, she was unlikely to admit had been drawn by her).
Looking at the pile of stuff still sitting next to her that needed to be sorted, she sighed. She was going to be here for awhile.
[OOC: Open for interaction! Come point and laugh, or perhaps rescue her from paper-sorting-related fatigue.]