( Her own fair share of thoughts kept her distracted, from the mundane (where to put her dress so it doesn't end up hopelessly wrinkled?) to the immediate, more grim thoughts of back home. There's little doubt in her that plans won't go as smoothly as Glen expects, regardless of how difficult seeing the particulars of it may be. Still, there's been a familiar feeling coming back when she'd first come to, and not just the disorientation of being held up by Break's side.
The toilet was another strange discovery, but between it, the shower, and the sink, Sharon feels fresh and more distinctly clearheaded, for all she'd been finally able to wash away some of the hurt surrounding the injury on her head. It's a tender bump her fingers explore before she wrings out her hair, stepping out of the cocoon of warm air into the bathroom proper, avoiding looking at the mirrors lining one wall. A lady did not always favor seeing herself, let alone done up in towels as she dried off and set about an industrious progress across the hall to the bedroom festooned in whatever towels she deems necessary.
Sharon finally emerges feeling like she missed signing up for Latowidge Academy, making herself stop fussing with the skirt and stop thinking about the particularities of what she isn't wearing. She'd be red in the face if she thought about those, and she has no need for that now. Gilbert's unprepared to be hosting anyone of delicate sensibilities, or more correctly, anyone from their own time. World? Probably both.
Adjusting her blouse one more time, she makes barefoot progress down the hall to locate him in the heart of what must be something like a kitchen. All of this feels like an edge of the scandalous. What's more annoying is having Gilbert star unintentionally in the strange play this is turning out to be.
But she has questions, and not time for silly thoughts, and so those are placed to the side. )
How long have you been here on your own, Gilbert?
( It's a soft question from where she appears in the door, hair combed but damp, hanging down her back. She looks like she's playing dress up in someone else's clothes. )
no subject
The toilet was another strange discovery, but between it, the shower, and the sink, Sharon feels fresh and more distinctly clearheaded, for all she'd been finally able to wash away some of the hurt surrounding the injury on her head. It's a tender bump her fingers explore before she wrings out her hair, stepping out of the cocoon of warm air into the bathroom proper, avoiding looking at the mirrors lining one wall. A lady did not always favor seeing herself, let alone done up in towels as she dried off and set about an industrious progress across the hall to the bedroom festooned in whatever towels she deems necessary.
Sharon finally emerges feeling like she missed signing up for Latowidge Academy, making herself stop fussing with the skirt and stop thinking about the particularities of what she isn't wearing. She'd be red in the face if she thought about those, and she has no need for that now. Gilbert's unprepared to be hosting anyone of delicate sensibilities, or more correctly, anyone from their own time. World? Probably both.
Adjusting her blouse one more time, she makes barefoot progress down the hall to locate him in the heart of what must be something like a kitchen. All of this feels like an edge of the scandalous. What's more annoying is having Gilbert star unintentionally in the strange play this is turning out to be.
But she has questions, and not time for silly thoughts, and so those are placed to the side. )
How long have you been here on your own, Gilbert?
( It's a soft question from where she appears in the door, hair combed but damp, hanging down her back. She looks like she's playing dress up in someone else's clothes. )