Room 317, Monday Evening
Z was busily taking down the newspaper articles she'd spent Saturday afternoon taping up on the walls of her side of the room when a light on her computer started flashing. "Incoming transmission," a cheerful female voice announced, and Z squeaked and grabbed for her SPD uniform jacket, throwing it on over her t-shirt and fastening it as fast as she could. Then she sat down, yanked off her hat and smoothed her hair, and hit the enter key on her keyboard.
( Who could be calling? )
Z sighed and put her head down on her desk. "Great. Just great." She wondered what would happen if she didn't show up. After a few minutes of feeling sorry for herself, she got up and went back to cleaning off her walls. No use worrying about stuff she couldn't change.
((OOC: Open for interaction. The door is closed, but knock and she'll answer.))
( Who could be calling? )
Z sighed and put her head down on her desk. "Great. Just great." She wondered what would happen if she didn't show up. After a few minutes of feeling sorry for herself, she got up and went back to cleaning off her walls. No use worrying about stuff she couldn't change.
((OOC: Open for interaction. The door is closed, but knock and she'll answer.))