who: @sama-not-sam when: monday by technicality. very, very early hours. where: professor woodrow's office
Alison had come to the office again to keep working. Her self assigned task of making sure they were all covered. That they weren't going to be fucked over by some loose end. That they weren't going to be fucked over by some purposeful clause in the agreement they'd never looked closely at. But, mostly she'd drank. She gotten to the office, refused to sit on his side of the big desk, and poured herself a glass of some old liquor instead of looking through the files of papers she'd been working on earlier. One drink became another. Soon she was rather tipsy looking at the desk drawer full of candy like it was a dead bug she didn't want to deal with. And she'd drank some more, finally crashing on one of the small, sophisticated, no where near as comfortable as they looked armchairs with a photo album that seemed to be from Professor Woodrow's college days and eventually drifted off to sleep. A rather pathetic moment for her, though she'd believed it would be entirely in private.
A rustle of the door wakes her. A small gasp as the in between tipsy and hungover hits her and the briefest of seconds to sit up a fraction before the door opened completely and ... of course it's Sama. Why would it be anyone else, right? It couldn't be someone who might allow her some grace as she sat there, curled up in an armchair with a photo album and whatever liquor she could find. Still dressed in the dress she'd worn to the funeral though now accompanied by a pullover and just a chunky pair of socks instead of heels. " What are you doing here? " She asked, immediately sitting up straighter again as if to balance out the tone and croakiness she heard in her own voice. " It's ... " She checked her watch, pushing the sleeve of her sweater back. Fucking hell. " It's so early. "