[ fortunately for marta, she has had time to reconcile the fact she'd have an audience for this while she debated actually texting him. (it was a short debate; she hasn't any clue who else might have been on her floor, and reaching out to the person her own room is connected to just made the most sense.) does that make any of this less aggravating? no. is she any more reassured this will actually work? also no. but at least if she falls to her death, she'd have a witness....... for all the good that would do.
phone tucked into the pocket of her pajama pants, marta considers the trellis closest to the now-open window. under the moonlight, he might be able to see the unhappy purse of her lips, the deep furrow of her brow. could there have been an easier way to get back to her room than this? probably. but the solution refuses to reveal itself to her, and her fingers have already begun to feel stiff from the cold.
she takes it one step at a time. one foot, then the other. the stiffness in her fingers don't help to give her a good grip around the wood, but the vines are sturdy she chances pulling herself up a few feet on those alone.
by the time she makes it up to the window, she looks little more than a haggard, drowned rat. her hair has matted itself to her face, both from the sweat of exertion and the chill clinging to the air giving everything a frost light enough it quickly melts away. her hand slaps noisily against the window sill, drawing on the last reserves of her strength to finally heft herself over and in. ]
Don't laugh, [ she grunts, but all the sharpness of her warning is punched out by the low whine of the last of her breath leaving her. ]
no subject
phone tucked into the pocket of her pajama pants, marta considers the trellis closest to the now-open window. under the moonlight, he might be able to see the unhappy purse of her lips, the deep furrow of her brow. could there have been an easier way to get back to her room than this? probably. but the solution refuses to reveal itself to her, and her fingers have already begun to feel stiff from the cold.
she takes it one step at a time. one foot, then the other. the stiffness in her fingers don't help to give her a good grip around the wood, but the vines are sturdy she chances pulling herself up a few feet on those alone.
by the time she makes it up to the window, she looks little more than a haggard, drowned rat. her hair has matted itself to her face, both from the sweat of exertion and the chill clinging to the air giving everything a frost light enough it quickly melts away. her hand slaps noisily against the window sill, drawing on the last reserves of her strength to finally heft herself over and in. ]
Don't laugh, [ she grunts, but all the sharpness of her warning is punched out by the low whine of the last of her breath leaving her. ]