@localcrisis
in one hand he holds a pastry of some sort, he never asked the person serving the food as to what it was. all he knew was that he liked it. in the early hours of the mornings, he’d get up and get fleur up, since he never knows whether or not she’ll get out of bed herself. and that aside, he’s curious as to where one of his shirts had gone. he could’ve sworn he had it yesterday.
so, with a small brown bag with the same pastry in it as he was currently eating, he walks up to the second floor and begins knocking on her door, though it seemed for nothing as he opens it and walks in without waiting for an answer anyway.
still in bed.
slate lets out a sigh, and sits down on the bed, beside the.. half asleep? girl. poking and pulling on soft cheeks, he can only hope this manages to wake her up.
“oi.. get up sleepy head. it’s morning and i bought you something up from downstairs to fill you before we go down for an actual breakfast.” he knows the pastry in this bag would hardly even be a snack for the fiery girl, so he’s just using it as a bargaining chip to get her up for real food.