Room 408, Late Friday Afternoon

[apocalipped]

Jono hadn't exactly taken his sweet time getting back to the dorms after his return to his island, so much as he'd been held up in the hell that was Portalocity security thanks to a passport photo that showed a Jonothon Starsmore who had a lower jaw and was distinctly less on fire. He was vaguely aware that people had opted to stay in Kaeleer a little longer, to make certain that Karla was doing alright, to make certain that they were doing alright, and there was perhaps a bit of nagging guilt that he hadn't done the same, but he'd needed to get away from there.

Jonothon wasn't so big on that group mentality thing, really.

George wasn't in the room when he staggered in. Probably off at that apathy club meeting, which he couldn't be arsed to attend today. All the better. There was, however, a bed, and, flames or no, he was going to kind of topple forward onto it and resign himself to not moving for about as long as he could possibly get away with it.

Possibly longer still, since there was a squeaky kitten curling up on the small of his back no more than five seconds after he'd fallen over.

Thank God for squeaky kittens.

[The door's shut, but the post is open to anyone who might have a reason to swing by to poke at Jono. Or, heck, to anybody who saw a guy on fire come in who might have a mind to investigate. Or whatever!]