( tony isn't in his room when joselyn gets there, but it also isn't locked to keep her out so—this is only a temporary obstacle. presumably he has to come back to it at some point, and she figures she won't be the only person that's going to have kind of an unproductive day immediately following the dreams that they all shared.
there's—
they were a lot. both dreams, actually. she isn't completely sure what the logic was behind bringing her satchel with her—what she'd imagined she'd find, when probably he woke up just the same as she did—but she sets it down, and looks around. tony isn't here, and she doesn't know how long he'll be gone, so
the trunk is locked, but she already knows what's in it. she looks at his papers, next, but most of them are unreadable; she is diverted by it briefly all the same, skimming to see if he's sketched anything that she might recognize, giving up when there's just only so long you can stare aimlessly at foreign words until it's clear they're definitely not going to spontaneously become comprehensible. the wind-up light that seems to her eye vaguely dwarfish (whether that's because it is or because she just associates things of its nature with dwarves before anyone else: debatable) occupies her for probably longer than she'll admit to tony, later, but by the time he does return she's sat down at his table and is writing a letter on some of his blank pages.
she leaves out the dreams. the reason why she's just thinking of you all this morning. they hadn't really been there, she knows; too far away for the magic to have drawn them in, they must have been...constructs, spirits. but it's been a long time since she saw the children, and what a reminder of how fucking fragile everything is. )
action. the morning after the night before.
there's—
they were a lot. both dreams, actually. she isn't completely sure what the logic was behind bringing her satchel with her—what she'd imagined she'd find, when probably he woke up just the same as she did—but she sets it down, and looks around. tony isn't here, and she doesn't know how long he'll be gone, so
the trunk is locked, but she already knows what's in it. she looks at his papers, next, but most of them are unreadable; she is diverted by it briefly all the same, skimming to see if he's sketched anything that she might recognize, giving up when there's just only so long you can stare aimlessly at foreign words until it's clear they're definitely not going to spontaneously become comprehensible. the wind-up light that seems to her eye vaguely dwarfish (whether that's because it is or because she just associates things of its nature with dwarves before anyone else: debatable) occupies her for probably longer than she'll admit to tony, later, but by the time he does return she's sat down at his table and is writing a letter on some of his blank pages.
she leaves out the dreams. the reason why she's just thinking of you all this morning. they hadn't really been there, she knows; too far away for the magic to have drawn them in, they must have been...constructs, spirits. but it's been a long time since she saw the children, and what a reminder of how fucking fragile everything is. )