Fandom High Dormitories

Simon was worried. No, that wasn't a particularly novel experience for him by any stretch of the imagination, but the reason was. He'd just gotten off the phone with Alisha, and there had been something... odd, about a part of the conversation. For reasons he couldn't even remember anymore, probably as a part of an idle attempt at a joke, he'd mentioned their last probation worker, Shaun.

And she'd laughed and asked, "Who?"

At first he'd thought she was just kidding, that there was a joke he wasn't quite getting, but no. She had no recollection of a probation worker by that name. None. It had felt unsettling, and he'd had to get off the phone before he managed to pass the feeling on to Alisha as well.

Simon wanted to think it was nothing, but he'd lived with the effects of the storm too long to find that likely. And that was even without going into the kinds of stunts the island could pull. So, he was in the common room boiling water for tea, because, well, he just needed to do something familiar. Maybe later he'd go out for a run in the warehouse district again.

[ooc: You know that O word these things usually are? Yeah, this one's that too.]

Simon didn't mind the cold. Being a pale Englishman, he actually much preferred it to the summer heat he knew they should have been having on the island. And it wasn't just that: the cold also cleared his head. Which really needed clearing, after he'd spent half the day trying to calculate just how much slower time was going back where he was from. It seemed that even though he made calls to England at regular intervals, every time less and less time had passed over there between his calls.

It was a little troubling. He tried telling himself that at least it was probably better this way around: had time been going faster there, he would've run the risk of missing something important. This way, he'd have more time to react to whatever might happen. He could be there in an instant, from their point of view.

That's what he kept telling himself to stop worrying. But, he needed distractions. So he was out. Roasting marshmallows. Occasionally chewing on his lip as he got lost in his thoughts without meaning to.

He'd burned a few marshmallows that way, too.

[ooc: Open!]