Room 507, Saturday Morning

[hotceltogoth]

Ronan was lounging around on his bed, an open book in-hand, but his attention wasn't on it. Instead, he kept getting distracted by other thoughts: thoughts of Karla, and Valentine, and Emma; of recent... encounters, and of friends long off the island.

He was distracted, yes, and distractable, although his door was closed.

[Expecting one in

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[time_flyer_5]

Jen had gotten up and headed down the hallway like she did every Saturday morning when she went to work, except no, wait, she went the wrong way down the hallway, a staggering two doors down with an even more intent sense of purpose than usual and . . . a water pistol in one hand. Yes.

"Ronan Nolan," she yelled, rapping firmly and professionally on the door with one hand, "I have a warrant for your arrest. Open this door or I'm coming in after you."

It might be inferred, from that tone of voice, that not opening the door would be more fun.

[hotceltogoth]

Ronan was four-fifths through a transport spell out of his room to a safe location -- the moon, in fact -- when he recognised the voice and let the spell fall away. "You'll never take me alive, copper!" he called back, in the most horrible American gangster accent heard... ever.

In anticipation, he slipped off his shirt and tossed it aside.

[time_flyer_5]

No one should ever look that happy about kicking a door in. Forced police entries don't often involve closing the door behind you afterward, but whatever. Jen looked way too happy about doing just that and holding a water pistol on him.

"You know if you resist arrest I might have to restrain you."

Just had to get that warning in there. Had to.

[hotceltogoth]

Discarding the horrible accent, Ronan laughed aloud and said, "I'd like to see you try!" He leaned back casually against the wall by his window. "Clearly you underestimate the great Ronan."