You're drunk, (she teases, taking Beverly's hand tightly in hers as they drift off down the hallway together. As if she can talk: she's quite drunk herself, but perhaps not as much as her companion is? Either way, everything is funny right now to her, and she's giggling as she pushes her bedroom door open.
She actually cleaned it, this time. The books are neatly stacked and sorted, the clothes on the floor put away, her bed made? It might seem a little disconnected from Lucretia herself, especially since Beverly has seen her trainwreck of an office. There is, at least, something artsy spread out across her desk to balance it all out: various tubes of paint and brushes scattered across a large strip of brown paper tacked down at the ends.)
You get first dibs on the bed, (she explains, turning the light on and then immediately dimming it down a little, because the very bright light is a little too much.) I can take the couch.
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She actually cleaned it, this time. The books are neatly stacked and sorted, the clothes on the floor put away, her bed made? It might seem a little disconnected from Lucretia herself, especially since Beverly has seen her trainwreck of an office. There is, at least, something artsy spread out across her desk to balance it all out: various tubes of paint and brushes scattered across a large strip of brown paper tacked down at the ends.)
You get first dibs on the bed, (she explains, turning the light on and then immediately dimming it down a little, because the very bright light is a little too much.) I can take the couch.