Francine Peters

Francine had her computer screen set up as a TV - not exactly the world's best tv, but it would do. She also had Griffin Silver: Live on Austin City Limits queued up to play, despite the fact that the title had been a lie for about three years now.

She also had popcorn, because seriously, like there wouldn't be food.

Now all she needed were some ears.

Er, more ears. Besides the ones on either side of her head.

You know, those ears.

[OOC: Expecting the, well, see above, but open before he arrives!]

If you think there were any Snickerdoodles left after yesterday, you obviously haven't met Francine Peters.

There were other cookies, of course. She'd have made them anyway, since she'd be a Big Sister to a new student starting tomorrow and she wanted to bring something to make them feel welcome, and ease them into the whole crazy experience of life in Fandom. There'd just be more cookies in the tin and less on Francine's bed, and she'd be a lot bouncier about the whole thing, if she wasn't worried sick.

As it was, even the baked goods were failing, and she'd actually dared to drag out The Book in the hope that the time she spent facepalming and hiding from even the most harmless-seeming pages -- gyaaaaah, the illustration at the beginning of the chapter on compatibility -- would serve to distract her.

It sort of worked, except for how it just made her worry in between the blushing that she might not ever get to try any of the things she was peeking at from between her fingers.

She meant to get up and shut the door fully, but well. Distracted.

[OOC: Open! But OMFG there will be book-hidey. Or at least attempts at book-hidey.]

You really don't want to know how many teeth brushings it takes to get the smell of tamales off your breath. Talk about experiences coming back to haunt you... But they were soooo good.

Much safer for the comfort and well-being of anyone who actually had to talk to you were the nachos Francine had snatched on her way out of class, which were currently sitting on the corner of her bed as she lay sprawled out with her Child Development book.

Okay, her closed Child Development book, a note from Firekeeper marking her place, and an open copy of Buttercup's Baby. What? It was... sort of related. It totally counted as studying! Plus, tomorrow was her birthday, which totally counted as a child development research project, right? Thus, she was totally not slacking off. Totally.

[OOC: Expecting the ears, but open!]

After today's trip out to talk to Katchoo, Francine wasn't feeling very social. More thinky, not that her thoughts were really going anywhere except in circles.

So instead of going downstairs for the weekly shirtless vampire fix, she was camped out on her bed with a bowl of vanilla wafers, a glass of milk, and the beginnings of a letter home about everything she'd been doing for the past few months. If by 'beginning' you mean five lines worth of I was a super-hero! Booze is evil... Katchoo is...

Dunk. Crunch. Scribble.

[OOC: For the eeeeears.]

Hiding out in the safety of her room after yesterday's traumatizing events (among others)? Francine? Of course not.

God, it was so nice to be able to lie again.

Though at the moment most of her lying was happening on the bed with the window cracked open, a softly scented and unseasonably warm breeze wafting in from the direction of the park, and a book on adult literacy spread out before her as she sprawled. She really didn't have a clue how to help somebody learn to read, no matter how many picture books she checked out of the library, so she figured she might as well try to find out.

[OOC: Open as open is, though expecting one with ears the size of small saucers at worst, whose thread be chronoschmoogically last! ...Also it always said evening.]

After the unexpected fun of last night's adventure, Francine had to admit to herself that she was tempted to go check out people's reaction to the common room, but that would require actually leaving this one. Without a mask and cloak. People might see her, and remember how much they'd seen of her this weekend, and oh God, it would be Puncture High all over again. She'd got as far as peeking out into the hallway before she'd changed her mind and fled back to the safety of her room.

So instead she was lying on her bed reading Bitterwoman Comics: The Golden Age Anthology, which was totally extra-credit homework for Superhuman Physics. Really.

Hey, at least she was out of the closet. That was irony progress, right? Sort of?

The alleged safety of her room was somewhat compromised by the fact that she hadn't shut the door properly, but shhh. It's the thought that counts.

__
[OOC: Open post is open, open door is not notajar.]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single girl in possession of a clarinet she's supposed to be practicing faithfully whose case she hasn't opened in at least four weeks, must be in want of anything that might prove a suitable distraction from opening same. Luckily for our heroine, she was also in possession of a cd player, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, and an empty ribbon-cola bottle that served as an excellent impromptu karaoke mic.

[OOC: Open post is open. Open door is...not as shut as Francine thinks it is.]