glacial_queen | Room 218, Friday Night (Reply)

Half an hour before the dance was scheduled to begin, Karla was ready. Her hair was done, makeup applied (less expertly than if Emma had done it, but at least passable), and dress--scandalously short by Karla's standards--donned and sensibly kept away from anything that could spill, leak, or stain it. Which meant that Karla was sitting on her bed, dress ruffled out so it didn't crease, not touching anything.

A lot of work and prep (and, to be honest, frustration and now boredom) for a dance Karla wasn't certain she was even going to.

Neither she nor Warren had said anything about going to the dance tonight, either together or separately. In fact, they hadn't even spoken together since their incredibly awkward date on Tuesday. She'd barely been on the island this week, so even if he'd wanted to ask her, he would hardly have had the chance to do so. As for asking him, well, she'd promised to back off and let him have room to come to terms with everything, which pretty much had meant no contact on her part. There were probably--okay, there were almost certainly--better ways to handle this, but damned if Karla could think of any.

Last night, she'd told Raven she doubted they'd be going to the dance and had meant it, but waking up to find the blue rose outside her door and his message about pineapples made her doubt turn to hope. He cared enough to send her a rose, cared enough to find a blue one because it made him think of her. That had to be a sign that things were going to work out...didn't it?

That hope lasted until about forty-five minutes after the dance started. Concern took up another twenty or so and then was followed by the sinking realization that Warren probably wasn't coming. Maybe he was already at the dance. Maybe he'd chosen to skip it entirely. Whatever the reason, he wasn't going to be knocking on her door to offer to escort her tonight.

It was stupid to feel hurt by that, right? Karla was pretty certain the answer to that was a resounding 'yes,' considering the circumstances. It didn't stop her from feeling that way anyway. In seconds her make up was ruined; she hadn't bothered with waterproof and now looked like a raccoon. But the storm was brief and past quickly. Honestly, Karla was tired of crying all the time. It felt like she'd done more of that in the past six weeks than she had in all the years since her parents had died combined. Enough was enough already. Especially over something silly, like a stupid dance she hadn't been asked to anyway.

Jumping up from her bed, she grabbed a knapsack and started shoving clothing into it. Time for a much-overdue visit to Kaeleer, she decided. She'd stay the weekend, maybe even through Monday. Get her head on straight. Figure out a better plan than this waiting around like a damsel in distress. Karla was a Queen, not some shy, shrinking maiden locked away in the tower. The time for crying and hand-wringing was over. Forget this.

Still in her pretty red party dress, Karla snagged her phone and started dialing the number for Portalocity. There'd probably be a wait, but whatever. Maybe she'd spend the time at the dance--she'd bought a pair of tickets herself, just in case Warren had forgotten. Still listening to the phone ring, Karla yanked her door open, just in time to see--

"Warren."

[For the one mentioned, please.]