Claudia Donovan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notmyownage) wrote2011-11-23 12:38 am
notmyownage) wrote2011-11-23 12:38 am
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Room 317, Tuesday night
Claudia came back from the causeway looking the very definition of downtrodden. She'd spent all day trying to book a trip to Geneva without having to be rerouted through places of which only Azerbaijan even sounded familiar with no success, and now Scully was stranded in Baltimore instead of back in the dorms where she damn well belonged.
She made it back to her room just in time to hear her phone beep. She pulled it out, found a number that more closely resembled an IP address than anything phone related, and frowned. She hit play and listened to the message.
When it was done, she stared at her phone. "WHAT THE HELL," she told it. "PHONES ARE NOT FOR TROLLING, DICKBAG."
[ooc: establishy but also open should anyone want to stop by.]
She made it back to her room just in time to hear her phone beep. She pulled it out, found a number that more closely resembled an IP address than anything phone related, and frowned. She hit play and listened to the message.
When it was done, she stared at her phone. "WHAT THE HELL," she told it. "PHONES ARE NOT FOR TROLLING, DICKBAG."
[ooc: establishy but also open should anyone want to stop by.]