Wynora is roaming early this morning. Classes were to start five
minutes ago, but her absence likely isn't a surprise to the
teachers. Her hands are stuffed in her pockets and her eyes are on
the ground, simply wandering for the sake of itself.

Too early. Too early to be up and about, too early to think, too
early to do much of anything. Matthew is more hungover than he's
been for quite some time, pale and unshaven and generally looking
as if he spent last night in a dumpster, which isn't all that far
from the truth. His apartment is a hell of a mess. He leans
against a building and closes his eyes, willing the world to come
to a stop.

Wynora might as well have her eyes closed, for all the attention
she's paying to her surroundings. Her glazed stare fails to
register the break in the pavement before her; her toe catches it,
and she trips, staggers unbalanced, and lands on her face in the
gutter. A pleasant start to the day, of course. She swears under
her breath as she gets to her feet, and finally notices Matthew
leaning against the wall. She heads in that direction, favoring
her ankle with a bit of a limp. "Stupid sidewalk," she mutters.

Closing his eyes turned out to be a mistake. All it did was remove
any equilibrium and make it impossible to tell which way is up.
Matthew dares to peek at the world again. A world which
unexpectedly contains Wynora. He raises a hand, not otherwise
budging from his slump. "Morning." Squint. "How they goin?"

"Had a busy night?" Wynora inquires blandly, taking in Matt's
condition. She yawns and stretches her arms over her head. "I
didn't get much sleep." Thin shoulders are shrugged.

"There's twenty bucks for anyone who can tell me." Matt pushes off
the wall, sways briefly, and recovers. Ow. "You're limping." I
think.

Wynora eyes Matt skeptically. "Do you really enjoy being hung
over? I can't think of anything other reason to get drunk as often
as you do." She nods. "I am. I fell on my face a minute ago. My
ankle twisted a little." She leans against the wall so she can rub
her ankle briefly.

She can't think of any other reason. Nor can he, at least right
now. Matt is never going to drink again! Until the next time.
"Here, let me take a look at it." He tries to crouch, is
dangerously off-balance, and sits on the ground instead.

Wynora peers down at the man. "Can you even see straight?" she
asks curiously. She's already slipped the boot off her foot,
though; maybe if she didn't wear those high heels she wouldn't be
at so much risk of hurting herself. She thinks better of trying to
balance on the one heel, so she pulls off the other boot too, and
stands there barefooted. Maybe she ought to wear socks
occasionally too...

"Oh, ayuh. No problem." Ahaha, ahem. Matt reaches to take hold of
the girl's foot and gently manipulate the joint, squinting up at
her to watch for any pain reaction in her eyes. "Tell me when it
hurts."

A whimper is barely supressed by the girl as her ankle is moved.
"Gah...That hurts," Wynora gasps quickly. Grumble. "Stupid,
stupid...I should've been watching where I was going..."

"It's not your fault." Matt fights through mental cobwebs. Good
thing he's not due at work today. He probes the ankle very lightly
with his fingertips. "I think you've sprained it."

Wynora growls. "Great." She's almost regretting skipping class
now, with a throbbing ankle and her bare toes getting cold. "How
was the medical convention, by the way?" she asks offhandedly.

It's a lot more plausible for coincidences to happen daily when
you're in a small, enclosed city. Coincidences like running into
people you know. Coincidences like running into people you know
while they're in the middle of being hung over and fixing ankles,
or at least looking ankles over. Thus, it shouldn't surprise
Matthew when a cheerful, sweet-sounding Australian voice calls
over from the street, "If I knew you liked ankles so much I'd wear
shorts more often. I might even brave a skirt."

"Dull, dull, dull. Thank God it was only for three days - " Matt
is distracted by the sound of a familiar voice, and without
looking away from Wynora's ankle, he breaks into a schoolboy grin.
Hangover be damned. "You in a skirt? Perish the thought. Come on
over here." He releases Wynora's ankle and kicks off one of his
own sneakers. "Here, you can't put your shoe back on that, borrow
mine."

Wynora errs, grinning slightly. "That's a little big, don't you
think?" Nevertheless, she steps into the oversized sneaker. She
glances over at the speaker. "Who's that?" she asks. Not the type
to go and meet people, is she.

Daisy wanders over as bidden, grinning; when she gets close enough
to see the dreadful shape Matthew's in again, she immediately
deduces what he's been up to, and does a mental eyeroll. She likes
it too, but jeez. Moderation is nicer to your head. With a
friendly whap to the doctor's shoulder, the girl takes her own
shoes off. "You have boat feet," she informs him, then tosses
Wynora a beaming smile and a mock salute. "I'm Daisy. Use my
sneakers instead - not only will they likely fit a far sight
better than his, they're also not as ugly."

Agh, don't whap me. "That's the *point*," says Matt, rubbing his
eyes with one hand. "It's gonna swell, and she needs to be wearing
a sneaker that will come off with no effort." He reaches over to
knot the shoelaces of his sneaker firmly around and around
Wynora's ankle. See, it'll stay on. "Look at this, anyone would
think I was a professional. Wynora, this is Daisy, she lives next
door to me."

Wynora nods. "Hello." Not an entirely friendly greeting, but not
hostile. Just...reserved. She peers down at the knotted laces.
"But if it's going to swell, aren't the laces going to dig into
the skin? Not that I know much about sprained ankles..."

It's not anything particularly significant that Daisy doesn't
really register Wynora's cool greeting - she doesn't tend to pick
up on a lot of that. If asked to describe her in one word or less
(haha), most people would refer to Daisy as a brilliant flake.
(Yes, that's like the five-book Hitchhiker's Guide trilogy.) "But
Matt, love, she'll trip on the toes. My sneakers are adjustable."
It's true. They're Chuck Taylors. See the trademark star on the
inner ankle? She pauses and clears her throat, then looks up at
the dome. "But of course, you're the doctor." And I'm the sober
roboticist.

"No, they won't, because it'll swell down *here*, and the laces
are tied up *here*." Matt is getting defensively angry, now. What
are you suggesting exactly, says his tone and expression. "Oh, you
know, do what you think. I'm obviously not thinking as straight as
I might be." Definitely irritated there.

Wynora shrugs. "I don't mind 'em the way they are. I was just
wondering." She leans back against the wall and sticks her other
foot back into its boot. An awkward balancing act that'll be, with
a four-inch heel and a flat shoe on the other foot. Hrm.

Daisy just sticks her tongue out at Matt. It's, yes, a very
immature response. But it's also a hopefully surprising thing to
do. She jams her sneakers back on and quickly laces them up,
eyeing Matthew half the while, then looking at Wynora and raising
her eyebrows. "Sorry," she says to the both of them, easily and
frankly. "I haven't slept for a while and sometimes I forget when
I should keep my mouth shut." Sometimes I forget that people are
harder to get along with than robots. Have a little distance with
your cake, miss. It tastes better.

"Not a big deal." Matt considers getting to his feet, then decides
that looks like too much effort. And hey, now he feels guilty for
snapping at Daisy. "Sorry. Daisy's a roboticist," he adds to
Wynora.

Wynora nods. "Robots. So you might know my mother, then," she
says, her mouth twisting distastefully around the words. Heaven
forbid anyone might be in contact with her parental units; who
knows what they might hear about Wyn! "She's tinkered with 'bots
before." Tinkering being the extent of it. Her parents aren't the
most talented scientific types.

So Matt gets a vaguely entertained look, and Daisy's hands are in
her pockets. She'll help him up, but only if he asks, now. The
girl shakes her head at Wynora. "I haven't been here all -that-
long yet, and when I've been at work, I don't talk to many people.
I get cranky if I'm interrupted, so they let me be." Besides,
she's the expert they called in, so they're not about to raise her
ire. She adds a little reluctantly, "If you want, I can look her
up. Is she at Flanagan?"

Wynora shakes her head. "No. Don't look her up." Hmm. That was
abrupt coming from the girl. "She's done some work at Flanagan
before but mostly independent stuff, with my dad. If you haven't
met her, save yourself the time she'd waste." She glances down at
Matt briefly. "Thank you for checking my ankle." Whoa. Heart
attack. Did Wynora actually just say 'thank you' to someone? Gasp.

"You're welcome," says Matt after a moment. He pushes a hand
through silvering dark hair and winces. "I don't suppose either of
you has a drink on you?" Hair of the dog.

Well, sure. Anyone who advises against meeting people who'd waste
her time is all right in Daisy's book. She grins brilliantly at
Wynora, and - oh, fine. Daisy suppresses a sigh and smiles a
little, glancing down at Matt again. "Not -on- me, but I have some
nasty bought beer for until the next batch is ready. At home." He
can bloody -ask- her to help him up. He can. No, he won't think of
it. She holds out a hand.

Wynora shakes her brightly-colored hair out of her eyes, and
blinks. "I hate Mercurii's. The middle of the week is just...blah.
Not going downhill or uphill. Just stagnant. It'd be even worse if
I were having to do schoolwork right now," she comments idly.

"Wednesday," mutters Matt, not seeming at first to realize that he
is being offered help. Eventually he catches on and takes Daisy's
hand, pausing a moment before beginning the process of hauling
himself upright. If he was heavy it'd take him all year. "Thank
you," he says humbly to the Australian. Wynora gets a glance. "I
don't like to lecture, but shouldn't you be getting lectured about
now?"

Wynora shakes her head. "No. I went to class the first two sols
this week. That's better than I did last week. Time for a break,"
she says firmly. "The teachers hate me anyway."

"What's Merc-- oh," says Daisy, and has the grace to blush. She
wasn't lying when she told Xavier she wasn't much up on anything
but hard science. Now - as to Matt hauling himself up - it takes
all of Daisy's concentration to remain upright. He might not be
heavy, but she's a real wuss. Since her focus is on the hauling,
she doesn't comment on the school bit. Besides, she liked her
teachers. It was everyone else she had no use for. Aha! But. Done
now. "Why'd they hate you?" she asks curiously.

Safely on his feet, Matt doesn't seem particularly inclined to let
go of Daisy's hand. His attention is on Wynora, though. "You know
in my limited experience, teachers like it better if you show up."

Wynora looks at Matt skeptically. "Wastes my time." She shrugs at
Daisy. "Aren't enough of them to give everyone the help they need.
When I don't understand, they ignore me. So I don't do the work.
And half the time I don't bother going. So they don't like me. I
don't like them either. They're always calling my parents and
making my dad more mad at me. Like I need any help making him mad.
I do it without trying," she sighs.

Shaking her hand a bit halfheartedly, trying (not too hard) to
make Matt let go, Daisy finally shrugs and returns her attention
to Wynora. At the moment, having him attached to her is kind of
like having the Soy Bomb guy jump around on the stage in front of
you while you're singing. You just carry on, see. "Oh! I get it.
Well, what kinda stuff do you not understand? I might be able to
help. I mean, I'm all caught up, so I'm not gonna be really really
busy for a while." She's quite serious. And it's not because she
feels 'close' to Wynora or anything, I mean, she just met the
girl. It's just the way Daisy is.

The shaking of Daisy's hand brings Matt to an awareness that he's
still holding it and he lets go as if he's been scalded. He then
does a bad job of pretending that didn't just happen, sticking
both hands in his pockets and watching Wynora thoughtfully. "Ayuh,
and if I can help at all, just let me know."

Wynora shakes her head. "I don't want to learn it. I don't need
any of it anyway." She's trying to assert her independence here,
and these kind offers are just reminding her of what a
recalcitrant student she is. She'd rather just be considered the
teacher's nightmare, but luck hasn't been with her on that so far.
"Thanks for the offer."

"Oh," says Daisy again, this time uncertainly. Her hand goes up to
tug at her hair a bit, and she looks dubious. "But if they're not
making it interesting, and if you're not learning, then they're
doing it wrong and they're probably obstinate and incapable of
seeing things in any way but their own." Quickly, holding her
hands in front of her, she shakes her head and adds, "Sorry. Not
going to push or anything. Just kind of feel bad when people don't
like learning."

"If you're sure. There's not much worse than regrets, Wynora."
Matt rubs at one eye with the heel of a hand. "Unless it's a
hangover."

"And you oughta know," Wynora chuckles. "Hm. I'm not feeling much
regretful about taking time off school," she answers honestly. She
shrugs. "O'Reilly can't afford really great teachers. They just
hired a new one fresh from Earth, but she's so naive it's like a
joke having her teach."

"Well, I guess not," answers Daisy somewhat reluctantly. "I don't
much regret having missed classes, but I didn't do it on purpose.
Went places a lot. For things. Didn't fall behind in school,
though." Tilting her head back a little, the young roboticist
looks thoughtful. "Out of curiosity, what sort of subjects -are-
you having trouble with?"

"Now I feel out of place. I went to all my classes." Matthew
pauses. "Well. Most of em."

"I would've!" Daisy looks slightly put out. "But Mum and Da kept
taking me out and putting me in contests and things."

"Sciences. English. I speak French, but they don't seem to care
about that." Wynora grimaces. "They don't like my writing." She
shrugs. "I do okay in math. And I liked learning psychology. But
that was last year, in New Sagan. Here there isn't any psych
specialist teaching."

Psychology. Matt wrinkles his nose and looks briefly away. He is
not fond of psychologists and psychiatrists. "I could help with
sciences. Probably. But if you're not interested, there's not much
point."

Shrug. "They're too confusing," Wynora complains. I thought
physics might be interesting, since my dad enjoys it so much, but
then I was so confused that I gave up on trying to work with it."
And pyschologists and psychiatrists are different things. "We
called 'em psychos and psychis in New Sagan," she reminisces.
"Both types would come and give classes. Those were fun. Actually
learned some stuff." She grins.

Daisy looks apologetic. "I can't help much with writing. But -
yeh, I could show you physics sideways, if you were interested.
Only other thing I could help with is linguistics; that was my
other major. Bit like building puzzles." Then she grins. "You're
one up on me. I don't understand people a -bit-."

"I did a psych rotation in my fourth year," remarks Matt, somewhat
out of the blue. "That was not something I want to repeat. Biology
and anatomy, though, I could help with."

Wynora sighs. "The problem with the teachers, is that none of them
speak French. If they spoke French, I might get along better with
them. Aren't teachers supposed to take foreign languages in
college?" she asks in a near-whine. "The one thing I learn from my
parents, isn't useful in classes."

Daisy offers helpfully, "I could learn French. I haven't done much
poking about with the Romance languages, but it's mostly because I
didn't quite have the time. Do you know it well enough to teach it
to me?"

Wynora raises an eyebrow. "I'm not much of a teacher, but I could
try," she shrugs.

Feeling somewhat sidelined, and glad of it - his head hurts -
Matthew wanders a couple of steps away and leans on the wall
again.

"Here. Je m'appelle Wynora," the girl says. "Now you say, 'Je
m'appelle Daisy.'" She grins over at Matt. "You want to learn too?
It's useful."

"Je m'appelle Daisy," repeats Daisy dutifully. She flashes a quick
grin. "Me Tarzan, you Jane?" Glancing at Matthew again, the girl
pauses, and looks appraisingly at him. Oh, Matt. Physician, heal
thyself. He's tired, too; all right. She gets to babbling when
exhausted, he gets to snapping. Fair enough. "Or do you need a
hand home?" she asks, surprisingly gently.

"Comment appelle tu? Where I come from it's still the second
language." Matt has his eyes closed, head leaned back against the
wall. "It just makes everyone sound like my aunt Becky." Daisy's
query gets a very carefully shaken head. "No, fine. Maybe - in a
minute."

"Comment allez-vous?" Wynora inquires. She grins. "I'm out of
practice. My accent's rusty."



-Later-



"Pleasant girl, that," says Daisy mildly, standing a bit away from
Matthew-against-the-wall, hands in her pockets, watching the
street into which Wynora disappeared. "I always thought it might
be interesting to dye my hair, but I don't think I'd like the
change."

"She's a great kid." Matthew tips his head back to level in order
to watch Wynora leave. "I hope she remembers to bring my sneaker
back. I'm not hopping mad."

Daisy blinks, turns, and stares at Matthew. And then she *beams*.
"That was -dreadful-!" she exclaims happily, suddenly magnetically
drawn to him. With a gentle poke at his arm that's basically the
equivalent of tugging on his sleeve, she pleads, "Do it again?"

Aahh, no. Matt winces and grins at the same time, which hurts
further. "Well you have to give me a little more to work with than
that. Get thee to a punnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder of
sinners?"

Daisy's hands fly to her mouth, and her eyes do this funny smile
thing - they turn into little upside-down crescent moons when she
laughs. "Oh god!" she squeaks. "You're horrible! I can't do that.
I don't know anyone else who can. Do it again!"

"I'd do it again but you might get used to it. I wouldn't want to
have to start charging you. You're charged enough." Matt casts
Daisy a helpless, puppyish look. I wanna go *home*.

Good grief, did she just bounce? No, it must be the light. It's a
ridiculous sort of delight she's taking, here, almost like a
child. No, exactly like a child who's first discovered wordplay or
hexadecimal mathematics. She bursts out laughing, and reaches out
to take Matt's hands. "All right, all right. Let's get you
something to drink and a bed to fall into, you beautiful fool."

Oh, my. Matt takes her offered hands, blinking in pleased surprise
at her words. And for a moment he can't think of a single thing to
say or do except grin like an idiot. "...I'd rather be your fool
than anyone else's wise man."



-Still Later-



And that everpresent camera opens on an empty hallway, with the
sound of distant outdoor laughter in the background. It comes into
better aural range, and then its owner follows it, leading a tall
and skinny doctor into view. In nicer terminology, Daisy tugs Matt
along gently, giggling helplessly each time he puns. "No no, stop
now, my side hurts...! We've got to make your head stop hurting,
not my side start...where's your door again? You need a painkiller
or just a beer?"

"Right now I could go for decapitation. It wouldn't help your side
but I'd see straighter that way. But then why would I want to see
straighter when I can still see you?" Matt is kidding, but he
stumbles as he walks, almost ready to drop.

Oh no, stumbling bad. Okay. Enough with the leading, time for the
supporting. She's short enough that it's easy, and tall enough
that it's not useless, for her to take his arm over her shoulder
and help prop him up. Daisy grins skeptically and asks, looking
for their doors, "Just how many of me -do- you see?"

"Just you." Matt is greatly appreciative of the help. He prefers
being drunk to being hungover, at least when you're drunk you
usually enjoy yourself while collapsing. "Finest kind."

"Finest kind of what, love?" asks Daisy absently, juggling Matt
and the handle to his door. It shouldn't trigger anything, she
calls everyone love. Well, not everyone, but a lot of people. She
pauses. "D'you have your key?"

Is nobody on this godforsaken planet from the right state?
"Of...of...it's an expression." Matt pauses at the suggestion he
should have his key. He doesn't have a clue. "I think so,
somewhere."

Daisy snickers. "Twit. Come on, then, you can borrow my place
until you're well enough to remember where your key is. Or until
I've strip-searched you." Shuffle, shuffle, almost fall, hit elbow
agaist wall, shuffle, shuffle. There we are. Daisy has -her- key,
and the door's open very shortly. "I apologize in advance for the
beer." Her apartment looks like it hasn't changed - not one single
thing - since last week. She really didn't come home, not even to
sleep.

Now there's a hell of a thought. "Never apologize for beer. I'll
have a word with it myself." Matt blinks at the apartment. He's
not seeing too straight, but. "Do your robots do the cleaning?"

"Cleaning?" asks Daisy blankly, depositing Matt on a relatively
comfy chair and heading for the fridge. The joke got a brief grin
this time, only, because she's busy thinking. "Cleaning what? It's
dusty as anything in here. I could get them to clean if it really
mattered to me, which it doesn't." Beer, beer. What have we got?
Reasonably tasty but very mild and boring lager. She pulls out a
bottle and opens it, and hands it over to Matt, then gets herself
a glass of iced tea.

Right, beer. Hair of the dog. Or in this case, hair of a totally
different and rather less rabid dog. "Thank you." Matt sips,
discovers it's not very strong and gulps instead, tilting his head
back and downing the stuff like it was Coke.

Daisy looks wry. "Since these aren't Auntie Daisy's Roofing Tar,
you have the option of one more." Don't want him getting drunk
again, just want his headache to go away. Just so he can sleep the
rest of it off. Please, again, physician - heal thyself. "Or," she
offers, "sleep."

Oof, whew, drank that a little bit too fast. Matt is tipped very
slightly back towards drunkeness again, which works well enough.
"Sleep. That would be...a good idea." Sleep. "Here?" He could do
that.

Off one bottle of lager? Quite impressive. But then, it's not UCAS
beer, it's Martian beer. "Only," laughs Daisy, "if you promise to
actually sleep. Which shouldn't be hard. I have things left I need
to do today." And even though you're dirty and smelly and my bed
is nice and clean. Because I don't need to sleep, and you're too
collapsible to take a shower. She holds a hand out again, but this
time it shouldn't be quite as hard to get him standing.

And he was running very high to begin with. Matt makes more of an
effort to help this time, hauling himself up and taking the
opportunity to hug Daisy, gently and carefully.

Daisy returns it surprisingly tightly, though not dangerously so
(she hasn't got the grip to squeeze all that hard), but very
quickly. Then bringing him back to where he can collapse, she's
got her face carefully angled so he can't see her expression.
"Come on, you, you can only sleep here now if you sleep,
remember?" she notes lightly, but there's a very odd tone to her
voice. Something half-resurrected, something with a touch of
fright to it. Very faint, but there.

A slight frown. Something's wrong, but he can't tell what, and is
in no condition to try and work it out. Matt sits down, heavily,
once he can, and looks up at Daisy with a puzzled, serious
expression. Which fades after a second or two into a tired
half-smile. "Gnight."

She can't let him- she doesn't want him to go away. So she can
just hope that Matthew doesn't remember once he wakes up. But
finally, Daisy's got the look away from her face and the tone away
from her voice, and she grins lopsidedly at the raggedy doc. She
leans forward a little and kisses his forehead. "'Night. Call out
'lights out' when you want them off, and the reverse when
applicable. Washroom's to the left. Teddybear's under the
righthand pillow." As jarred as she may have been a moment ago,
she's once more entertaining herself.

At the kiss, he closes his eyes briefly, and doesn't bother
opening them again, instead scrambling sideways on the bed to get
into a reasonable approximation of lying down. After a moment's
confusion, Matt remembers to kick off the remaining sneaker. "Bear
with me...Lights, any time," he says over a yawn, which trails
into a mumble directed into the pillow.

With a pfft and a soft laugh, Daisy shakes her head and says
quietly, "Lights out, Ziggy." The lights silently flicker off, and
the girl stands in the doorway for a few seconds longer, watching
Matthew - and then she slips out as silently as the lights.