[ It may well be necessary. Pyrrha’s comfortably ensconced in a heavy mess of blankets, pillows and cybuddies, sleeping off her fuzzy head, stuffed noise and scratchy throat as best as possible. The noise is light, her head syrupy from cold medicine and barely hearing it. Barely, however, is pointedly different from not hearing it. Slowly, she stirs, and then - ]
Jaune? Can you get that, please?
[ Silence reigns, probably because he’s not home. Oh, right. In her head, a sleepy Pyrrha overturns the pros and cons of simply not answering. And then, politeness winning out, she slowly rises.
Cinder is greeted with quite a sight. A thick cotton robe is folded over Pyrrha’s nightgown, her eyes somewhat glazed over and her facial complexion missing a few shades of its normal pallor. Plaited hair falls over one shoulder, with frayed edges peeking out.
Recognition is slow. It’s the woman she danced with at the party, the one who knew her by name. ]
action.
Jaune? Can you get that, please?
[ Silence reigns, probably because he’s not home. Oh, right. In her head, a sleepy Pyrrha overturns the pros and cons of simply not answering. And then, politeness winning out, she slowly rises.
Cinder is greeted with quite a sight. A thick cotton robe is folded over Pyrrha’s nightgown, her eyes somewhat glazed over and her facial complexion missing a few shades of its normal pallor. Plaited hair falls over one shoulder, with frayed edges peeking out.
Recognition is slow. It’s the woman she danced with at the party, the one who knew her by name. ]
Oh, hello. Can I help you?