fandomhighdorms | 2nd Floor Common Room, Wednesday Afternoon

Karla was feeling Crafty today--though, admittedly, this was not exactly news. Karla was often in that kind of mood, regardless of whether the 'C' was capitalized or not. After the Magical Reserves meeting today, she'd decided it was a good day to stock up on some items for the Support Reserves. Magical potions unfortunately lost efficacy after a few hours, but a few simple Healing webs could be activated without her being around with only a few drops of blood, and could heal most minor to middling injuries. Calming potions would be useful in an emergency, as would sleeping draughts. Which reminded her that a few energy powders might be wise, too. Cooling or warming unguents, too, depending on when they'd be fighting. Plus the everyday, non-magical potions for things like bee-stings, sunburn (Karla, being very fair-skinned, made a lot of that), chafes, various aches and pains...

There were also some potions brewing that were for her own use, or to be shared with others, like her moon-time tea and the contraceptive brew, since it seemed like something to have handy for people.

And since she'd promised magical help to several people over the past few days, the common room seemed an easy enough place to find her. Plus, it had more counterspace, a sink, and a stove she was going to avoid until someone came in and taught her to use it properly. A few tongues of witchfire were enough to heat anything, anyway.

Anyone coming in would see Karla singing softly to herself, as she consulted a few large, leather bound books, fiddling around with various pots filled with herbal-scented liquids, or weaving webs in small, wooden looms.

[Common room is open! SP warning for me this evening.]

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Of course it is! Karla takes great pride and pleasure in being a pain in the ass. And there might be. She's not saying for sure, though.

Pain in the ass, remember?

"What trauma have you faced recently?" she asked, skeptical.

And now Karla has moved from being an ulcer to being a hemorrhoid. Charming.

"The...moon-thing," he said. "And the last time I was gremlin-bit. And the...stuff where I was hitting on you." Oops. "Not that I regret it, but you've been staring daggers at me ever since and I'm not sure it's my fault." She hadn't really, and it's both their fault (or the damn Isle of Ikea, actually), but it's the best he can think of on short notice.

That's her!

His last remark was what earned him the raised eyebrow he was now getting. "I've been glaring daggers at you?" she asked. "If I had been, believe me, we would not be having this conversation right now. If you'd like, I can show you the difference. But I suggest you take it on trust that I haven't been."

With anyone else, an outlandish statement like that would have been a cover for something that they didn't really want to admit to. With Jack, however, Karla wasn't willing to say that he wasn't being entirely sincere in his belief.

Blast it, she's still cute.

"No, that's okay, because then there'll probably be real daggers," he pointed out (not sure if she could actually do that. But still? Witch.)

The narration pleads the fifth regarding admitting to something, not admitting to something, or covering up an admittance or nonadmittance to something.

It's the dimples.

"And you are educable!" Karla said, dimpling. "I'd begun to despair."

See?

Dimples are cute.

"You were despairing about me? Aw, that's nothing to worry your pretty lil head."

...yes, he actually said that.

2nd Floor Common Room, Wednesday Afternoon

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