ArchivedLogs:The Cat's Pajamas

The Cat's Pajamas
Dramatis Personae Marinov, K.C.	2017-02-28 '
Location <XS> K.C., Marinov, and Paras's Dorm - FL2
The influx of new students this year has led to a bit of overcrowding at Xavier's, and it is starting to show in the dorm arrangements, many rooms like this one refitted for three students where they had once been built for only two. The standard two closets have been joined by a large armoire against one wall; three dressers have been moved in, three desks. A bunk bed on the left side, a lofted twin with its desk underneath it on the right. The side of the room with the lofted bed has been decorated brightly -- a multitude of elaborately embroidered scarfs has been repurposed as drapes, curtaining off the underside of the bed when not pulled back. The hutch of the desk has been papered in photographs, the books on it (largely not in English, save for the collection of textbooks) neatly arranged. The lower bunk is generally crisply made up when not in use. Beneath the bed boxes upon boxes of supplies are stored in clear plastic organizers; beads and findings and all manner of tools. A large colorful basket sits underneath the desk nearest to the lower bunk, the desk itself often a messy disarray of half-finished jewelry or knitting projects. Near the head of the bed, a pair of food and water bowls covered in cheerful pastel pawprints sits on a large plastic placemat. It is getting later on in Tuesday evening, late enough that some students are retiring back to their rooms to urgently complete assignments that are due the next day. Marinov is just returning, having already changed into their pyjamas, a flannel onesie with images of kitten pawprints on it that they had made, a set that they've not worn before and in fact completed just that evening. They hum a tuneless sort of song as they enter, eyes searching immediately searching for Suga Mama, their ears perked up excitedly. They don't have long to search -- from beneath K.C.'s desk the pitbull is already rising to her feet, already loping toward the door with a wag of tail, a long squeaky colorful toy snake held in her mouth that she holds out in offering to Marinov (who has clearly been gone for /ten thousand/ years/.) /At/ the desk, K.C. has a calculus textbook out, a notebook beside it -- she's not actually working in either of these things. Just kind of staring off into space a little bit beside the desk, a faint grin on her face. Her hands are busily working, albeit not on her homework; knitting needles busily clicking and something in grey and white yarn developing slowly in her lap. "Suga Mama was /very/ huffy." She doesn't look up when saying this. "/Nobody/ playing. No free hands." "Oh, no, Suga Mama, prosti! You did not get your daily dose of attention," says Marinov, kneeling down and rubbing down the dog's neck. They take the squeaky toy gift and add, "Which is all the attention. That's what you deserve. Nothing less." They squint their eyes slightly and squeak the snake experimentally. They peer over Suga Mama towards K.C.'s project, wondering out loud, "What are you working on there? Not to be a distraction. Just curious is all." No sooner has Marinov taken the snake than Suga Mama happily lunges to grab it right /back/ -- or at least the other end of it, a long string of squeaks emerging as she plants her paws and tug-tug-tugs at its tail. "Hat," K.C. explains. "Dog hat. Shark hat. New pajamas." Her head has tipped back now, over the back of her chair to peer upside-down at Marinov. "Thumbs-up. Imaginary thumbs." Her real thumbs are /occupied/. "Pun-jamas. Excellent." "Haha, yeah! I'm premiering these today. Not that I usually wear pyjamas out and about... so a shark hat for Suga Mama, huh?" They turn to speak to the dog, tugging in return on the snake, but being sure to be considerate of its bodily integrity. "You're a lucky pupper! Getting gifts!" They squeeze the snake once to make a loud squeak. They finally notice the calculus book, eyes staying on it for a few moments, "You doing some studying for exam week? It's the pits." "So comfortable though." K.C. sounds Quite Unabashed. /She/ has definitely been known to roll into class in pajamas on more than a couple occasions. "Suga Mama will be a fierce shark. Model it for etsy." She puts her needles down, spinning her chair around to watch the ongoing wrestling. Squeaky wrestling. Suga Mama seems excited the more the snake squeaks. "The worst. Tomorrow math." She considers a moment, then decides: "I'll wear pajamas to the exam." Her eyes track downward to the pup, slowly skidding a little toward Marinov, paws not easily finding traction on the wood floor -- not that that stops her enthusiasm for the game. "Are you ready. For exams." "I dunno. I've been listening to the lectures over while doing my sewing," says Marinov, "Gotta keep my hands busy or else I'm sorta prone to just falling asleep." Their own feet, currently bare, sort of skid against the ground in response to the tugging contest with the dog. Eventually, it's too much and they have to let go and let Suga Mama win! "I think if I wore my pyjamas to an exam, I'd fall asleep for that too..." It's not infrequently that Marinov falls asleep wherever they happen to being doing something boring. "But even with the prep, I feel like my brain is not that good at, you know, /knowing/ things." Suga Mama skitters backwards triumphantly with the snake, head shaking FEROCIOUSLY with her prey. Squeaksqueaksqueak. Wumph, she settles down on the floor, paw pinning it to the ground so that she can continue battling its squeaker. "Maybe you could get an exemption. Exam somewhere interesting. Take exams in the forest. In trees." Shrug. "In the treehouse at least. Help your brain? I take mine with Suga Mama. She helps my brain." "The forest," repeats Marinov, rising to their feet to look out the window. "You might be on to something. The smells and sounds outside feel so much more... I dunno. Better. Less stressful. I'm glad that Suga Mama can help you out with your exam stuff. Help your brain." They take a deep breath and let it out slowly, "So how do you feel about the exams? Like, are you feeling prepared?" "Can anyway ask. Administration. Have to make a form. Brain -- form. Request form. Crazy brain form." K.C. shrugs. "Maybe they'll help. Sometimes they help." She rocks her chair slowly back and forth, head shaking in counterpoint. "Unprepared. Semi-prepared. Don't know. Ready for --" She considers. "History. Only that. If there were knitting class." Her smile is quick. "/Then/ I'd be ready." "Ah! Yeah, if I were doing like a fabric arts exam!" says Marinov, chuckling softly. "For me, chemistry is the class I'm the best at, but I'm not... able to always take it in every term. So does history interest you, then? Or just something you're good at?" They glance up to their bunk, starting in that direction. "I guess I'll ask administration about the brain form. I mean, what's the worst that'll happen? They say no, and I keep taking my exam in a quiet noisy room." They crouch down again, getting ready to hop on up. "Have you taken? I guess it's basic. For you. Fabric arts. Here." K.C. glances between the floor and the bunk, still swaying slowly back and forth. "History I --" Hesitation. "Like." Her nose wrinkles up. After some consideration she decides: "Worst is the registrar has plague. You ask for the form. Catch plague. Become zombie. I guess no exams then though." Her head is shaking again as she turns back to the desk. "But /probably/ just boring exam room." "Liking history is good. I just don't have a head for memorization." Marinov leaps up onto the top bunk, crawling around for a bit on the bed to make sure it is adequately comfortable. "I haven't taken fabric arts..." They stop the crawling and flop down on their side, "But I think I might. It could be interesting to learn what they normally teach, and talk shop?" Their tail thumps softly against the bed rhythmically. "I'll have to remember to sign to the registrar. Don't want to... zombie. I think I'd be... sleepiest... zombie..." Their eyes drift closed and they fall silent.