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Emma had another two weeks of winter break from ESU, so she'd been staying with Hank, helping the scientist with both his projects and some telepathic therapy to recover his memories. Bit-by-bit they were getting there, but whatever trauma Hank had undergone had been monstrous, and while Emma had been mastering her powers in leaps and bounds over the last three years, there was still much she had to learn.
She'd been fast asleep on the couch in her 'room' down in the tunnels when she started awake, the newspaper she'd been reading falling to the floor as she barely managed not to follow it. That same vague sense of wrongness was back, but different. Like there was something missing, and Emma reflexively reached out to check the telepathic links she had to her friends before remembering she was a world and years away; there was no way she'd get an accurate response from any of them at this distance.
Fuck. There was no reason she should be awake at this hour if it did not contain some vice or another. Or fucking statistics homework.
She went fumbling for her coat and boots - it was January in New York, after all - so that she could head up to the surface. First, check the early edition, and make sure it wasn't some disaster here. Second, find a Western Union or something. Third, wait until a semi-decent hour, and casually text a few people.
The last time this had happened, people had vanished. And Emma still couldn't get through to Peter's cell - but she brushed that fear aside. She was a Frost, and she did not curl up and fret. She was, however, possibly going to start kicking people in the shins.
[OOC: In response to this. Open for calls/texts/telegrams/etc that are not set in the pre-dawn hours. :)]
She'd been fast asleep on the couch in her 'room' down in the tunnels when she started awake, the newspaper she'd been reading falling to the floor as she barely managed not to follow it. That same vague sense of wrongness was back, but different. Like there was something missing, and Emma reflexively reached out to check the telepathic links she had to her friends before remembering she was a world and years away; there was no way she'd get an accurate response from any of them at this distance.
Fuck. There was no reason she should be awake at this hour if it did not contain some vice or another. Or fucking statistics homework.
She went fumbling for her coat and boots - it was January in New York, after all - so that she could head up to the surface. First, check the early edition, and make sure it wasn't some disaster here. Second, find a Western Union or something. Third, wait until a semi-decent hour, and casually text a few people.
The last time this had happened, people had vanished. And Emma still couldn't get through to Peter's cell - but she brushed that fear aside. She was a Frost, and she did not curl up and fret. She was, however, possibly going to start kicking people in the shins.
[OOC: In response to this. Open for calls/texts/telegrams/etc that are not set in the pre-dawn hours. :)]
