#rutgers

The next morning, Sam doesn't get up for her pre-breakfast jog. Indeed, she sleeps straight through her alarm and her first class.

Bang, bang on her bedroom door!

A sharp counterpoint to the alarm that has been going off for a while... perhaps a bleeping clock, perhaps music from her phone. Either way, Symon has had enough.

Groan-grumble-mumble.

Pound POUND! "Turn it OFF." He hisses!

A heavy sound of a radio-alarm clock breaking. Oops.

But... it's off.

Grumbling in the hallway, and soon, the smell of coffee, the second-hand pot percolating.

Dagmar's breathing sounds like she's back asleep. The stereotype for her size might be a comical snore, but the sluagh's ears just catch steady, quiet breathing.

But even the smell of coffee doesn't have her stirring. Well, not Symon's problem.

The alarm, after all, is now silent.

None the less, she finds an unpleasant sensation.

Water? WATER? ON HER FACE?

That gets a reaction. "Stop it." She covers her face with her hands, screwing her eyes shut. "Five more minutes."

"What's with you this morning? Did that Reade slip you a real cocktail in the mix?"

Spritz!

Odin watches from the safety of a windowsill - and looks somehow SMUG.

"No. M'just tired. Let me go back to sleep."

He moves over, edges Odin out of the way, and opens the blinds. Sunlight streams in.

"It's almost noon."

"Oh, shit. I missed my class."

She squints blearily at the light.

"Yeah. Sorry. Are you sick?"

"Maybe? Tired."

Soon there is a thermometer shoved in her face. "Make sure Sylvi didn't bring any plague back from New York."

As she wakes up, the tiredness drains away, but she does feel a bit logey, maybe even irritable, coffee probably sounds good.

Her cheeks are not flushed, nor does any fever linger, though.

"Don't think I'm sick. Coffee sounds good."

He squints at her, eyes gleaming with a trace of green... but he blinks and the color fades. "Mm. Coffee is ready." He slips out of the room, leaving Dagmar in privacy to get out of bed.

She shuffles out soon after, not bothering to sort her hair or change from her pajamas. Sam is usually the first up, and also the one that makes the pot of coffee. And... perhaps it is missing home, or all the time with Tove and Kerri, but she's usually the one that does the dishes and tidies up the kitchen. Sometimes she bakes.

Hmph. Symon sweeps the takeout containers into the trash.

"So what do you think of that book pub? The price is right... in that they don't charge for private space as long we we don't bring in any drinks of our own."

"Seemed decent." She agrees, poking around the cupboards. "Did Sylvi eat the last of my pumpkin muffins?" Irritated.

"I have one I was setting aside. It's still fresh. Want half?"

Peevish. "No."

"Suit yourself." He helps himself to an instant oatmeal packet, and leaves the box out if Sam wants any. Then, pulls out some pages to review. "I have a lab in an hour."

Grunt. She's still poking around the 'pantry,' such as it is.

It's pretty dire.

Mmm pumpkin muffins are gone. There's are some 'generic wheaties'

Enough milk for coffee, or cereal - not both!

"Does nobody bother taking care of anything?"

She takes the milk for coffee, apparently not eating anything now out of spite.

She sinks into her chair, cradling the oversized mug with both hands.

The soft sound of pen scribbling as Symon takes notes.

Slow sip. Coffee.

As the life-giving fluid flows, the headache she hadn't even realized was pressing on her temples eases, and her stomach growls.

A soft sigh.

"Sorry i was grumpy. Must be October."

"Yeah, it is. All month." He considers. "Hey, I have an hour. Want to hit Fritz's? They have discounted day-old bakery items."

"Sure?"

He shuffles his papers into his backpack so he can head out soon after. "Right. Might want pants." He says, deadpan.

"Oh, right. One sec."