WHO: Sasha James + Tim Stoker WHEN: After this and this WHERE: Their apartment SUMMARY: Sasha needs to talk to Tim about what the fuck just happened. STATUS: In progress.
Sasha laid there next to Jon for -- well, she wasn’t even sure how long. She’d managed to fall back asleep but her sleep was troubled; flashes of the things she’d come to learn weaving in and out of her consciousness. Something caused her to wake, startled, and it took her a few long seconds to remember where she was.
Tim’s room. Jon was there, sleeping. She still felt sick though. Reaching for her phone, she sent off a couple of text messages and was almost instantly met with a flurry of messages back.
They were on their way back to the flat. What time was it, anyway? She glanced at her phone again before sighing and laying it down on her chest. She could rest for a few more minutes, anyway, to try and get her wits about her. As best she could, at least.
Eventually she carefully climbed out of the bed, the shirt she’d stolen of Tim’s to sleep in still smelling of sweat and the coppery scent of blood, though that didn’t register with her at all as she made her way to the door and opened it. In darted Better Tim and she jumped, bringing a hand to her chest before she realized it was just the cat. “Bloody feline,” she murmured to herself, watching as it jumped onto the bed and curled up against Jon. Then she heard the front door and she quietly made her way out of the room, shuffling a bit toward the living space to peek around the hall entryway. “Tim?”