Rolling her eyes as he crawled out of the bed, Faith finally glanced around. First, at the table beside the bed....then around the rest of the room. Her eyes widened for a moment, before she looked back at him, then at the picture. "What the fuck is going on?" She pushed herself up, scrambling out of the bed - glad that, for once, she'd worn a tank and a pair of Mark's boxers to bed.
She took a step back and tripped over something, stumbling a little. Looking down with a curse, she picked up the toy firetruck, then looked over at Mark. "Where are we?"
Before she could move towards him, there was a sound from the door, and it flew open. A small, dark-haired blur threw itself at her and wrapped it's arms around her legs. "MOMMY IT'S MORNING AND YOU SAID WE'D GO TO THE MUSEUM IF I WAS GOOD YESTERDAY AND I WAS CAN WE PLEASE PLEASE GO??" The look that she shot Mark was one of pure terror. This made no sense whatsoever.