Room 326, mid-afternoon

[suzotchka.livejournal.com]

Ivanova shifts bags around as she fumbles for her key, leaving the door open as she drops the two heavy bags from the Emporium onto her bed with a sigh and flexes her fingers a few times to try and regain feeling. As she hadn't bothered to unpack yet, her side of the room was absolutely spartan. She unpackaged the coffeemaker and set it up on top of the dresser. Not the best place, but she was fresh out of milk crates to furnish with. Soon it was bubbling happily away, the truly massive tin of coffee next to it, and Ivanova began to unpack her few things. A pile of photos was placed neatly on the desk to be hung up and she was contemplating purchasing a powerbar. She wasn't looking forward to trying and integrating her own computer with the school. Maybe she'd just break down and buy a new one. Hmm.

[[Open for interaction. Hopefully with roomie.]]

Comments

[psi16.livejournal.com]

She enters the room cautiously, finding the door open. There is a cup of coffee in one hand she's managed to find somewhere, and a print out of her class schedule registration is folded and curved around the outside of the now-lukewarm cup. She draws in a deep breath, savoring the smell of coffee.

A wry smile curves her lips as she crosses the room and nods toward the brewing coffeepot. "There's something we can agree on."

[At work, so slower response times. ]

[suzotchka.livejournal.com]

Ivanova stiffens, her back to Lyta. "I just got it." Her voice is flat, but not openly hostile. "You can use it, too. Has a timer. I thought that might serve as a passable alarm clock. You seem to be the kind to sleep in."

If Lyta were picking up on what she was trying not to broadcast, under the layers of suspicion and hostility would be just the slightest touch of guilt about being so short.

[psi16.livejournal.com]

Her smile slips lopsided, as she fights herself to give Ivanova the benefit of the doubt. She does, after all, know a bit about her history. "I never got the chance the first time through."

She holds out a hand, looking to the glove encasing it. "Our entire day was regimented...from the time we got up to the time we went to bed. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Interactions, socialization." She pauses, taking a sip of her coffee. "I guess you could call it my way of rebelling against the system."

[suzotchka.livejournal.com]

"Next thing you know it'll be studs, leather, and tattooes," Ivanova snarled, then caught herself mid-snark. "I didn't - Okay, I did mean it. But you aren't getting any sympathy from me. And for the love of god, take off those gloves. We aren't in Kansas any more. No one knows what they mean and no one cares."

[psi16.livejournal.com]

She shakes her head. "I know. And until I'm comfortable, until I'm sure I'm not going to scramble anyone with a simple touch, they stay. I don't want to screw this one up."

[suzotchka.livejournal.com]

"Fine." Ivanova snapped. A pause, and her shoulder slumped just a little. "Look. I came to Fandom to get away from the PsiCorp, from the war, from Mar- from everything. And I was happy. Relaxed. Even when fighting zombies or spending a night freezing in a skimpy Hallowe'en costume before sleeping at the brothel. And then you showed up. It's just going to take me some time to get used to that." She quickly picked up the pile of pictures and began looking for some place to stick them up to distract herself.

[psi16.livejournal.com]

"And I didn't come here to intrude on that. Hell, I didn't even know you were here!"

Lyta shook her head. She wasn't shouting, but the frustration seeped into her voice. "I came here because Lorien sent me -- because Kosh sent me; I came to start over. To learn from my mistakes. We both have a lot of wounds to heal."

[suzotchka.livejournal.com]

"You think it's arrogant of me to assume that your only purpose here is to rain on my parade," Ivanova snapped. "Wounds to heal. Very PC. Forgive me if we don't become BFFs overnight. You can use the coffeemaker. Ask before you borrow things. I'll forgoe the tape line down the centre of the room. Beyond that, please don't expect more of me." She began sticking up photos with a vengance, slapping them onto the walls a bit too hard.

[psi16.livejournal.com]

She shakes her head. "I don't expect that at all."

Pausing a moment, she set aside her coffee cup and looked down at the gloves. She removed them slowly, one finger at a time, then gathered them together in her grip. They came to rest next to the cup. She then reached for her copy of The Mabinogion on the nightstand, and leant back to read. "Let me know if you want any help," she said.