A Secluded Couch In The Arms Hotel Lobby, Laaaaate Friday Night

"No, Mom, she didn't kick me out of the room." Dear God, there was not enough no in the universe for this call, at this hour of the night, with this much punch still wandering through Francine's system. "I just didn't want to keep her awake; it's late. No, of course it's not too late for you to call, especially on my birthday, I didn't mean that; we're just, I mean she's just tired. No, Mom, come on, you don't have to -- is that Muffins? What's she got in her mouth? It sounds like-- A what? Where would she get a-- Oh, a rubber duck..."

She so wasn't sober awake enough to deal with this. Francine slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet under her as she curled into the corner of the couch and tried not to yawn, or worse, nod off.

Why were the pillows on these couches so darn comfy? Not helping at all.

[Estaaaaaaaablishy...]

A Secluded Couch In The Arms Hotel Lobby, Saturday Morning - Give or Take 20 Years

Well, here goes nothin'... See ya in the funny papers, princess...

Francine, eyes still closed, was trying to rub at her forehead while someone was kissing her hand. Wasn't working out so well. That happened when you were still three quarters asleep, and that someone was leaving, and...

"Wait! Color woman! Take me with you! Don't leave me here!"

Well. That woke her up, enough to sit bolt upright on the ...couch where she'd fallen asleep. At least she could reach her forehead now, which was good, because it ached - like every other part of her. Black-and-white superheroines might feel no pain after a late flight, a later call home to check in on their daughter (with their husband was a lost cause, but somehow Francine had managed to ask if he was home yet with a straight face, even if she'd already known what the answer would be) and five hours sleep on a hotel lobby couch, but Francine Peters-Silver was no superheroine.

She sure as hell wasn't 20 years younger and 40 pounds lighter, with longer hair and a white streak that she'd been dyeing away since before Ashley was born, and she was pretty sure superheroines didn't get hangovers from airline cocktails either, even more than a few of them. Flying in planes used to just make her nervous, but that was before... Francine shook her head, which was an achey mistake, but just one more on top of the giant pile that was this weekend. What was she even doing here? What had possessed her to think this was a good idea? What had possessed her mother, of all people, who usually preferred to pretend Francine's last two years of high school never happened, to suggest that she come back for this reunion?

Francine stretched, also a mistake, and pushed her way to her feet. Now that she was here and awake, she might as well check in.

[OOC: Establishy, but also open if anyone who's not a miniscule blonde would like to run into her before the mixer.]