From United Heroes MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Date of Scene: 08 July 2023
Location: Logan's Cabin - Breakstone Lake
Synopsis: Logan and Betsy play an old game, then they talk plans for building a team over bacon and eggs, before Betsy shares a terrifying vision with Logan.
Cast of Characters: Wolverine, Psylocke
Tinyplot: Shadow Prophecy

Wolverine has posed:
Dusk starts to creep over the skies. A gray haze coated the day and now it's turning into something blue. Putting the cigar to his lips, he strikes a long stick match. An orange glow emanates from the stick. Then it kisses at the cigar, making the cherry glow to life. Taking a few good puffs, he lets out a smoke. "Fergot about this place," he says and then continues to savor his cigar while moving around to the front of the house. "These ain't Honduran. Someone's got an eye," he pulls out the cigar to marvel at it. Yes, Logan can tell the difference between when a cigar comes from Cuba instead of Honduras. A lot of people can't. if they don't know cigars.

As he makes his way to the front, Logan keeps puffing at the cigar. He presses the cherry to the bottom of his boot. He's making sure the cigar is usable for later.

Moving into the cabin, he takes a few strides forward. The door shuts behind him. His feet carry him toward the kitchen where he pulls out some bacon from the freezer.

Logan will look toward a spot in the cabin, "What are you doin' here?" It's not angry or accusatory, but there is a small edge of surprise to the expression.
Psylocke has posed:
Out here, there are limited things that can ping his sharp nose. The scent of the woods, mouldering leaves, the occasional animal. The cigars, the bacon. He's familiar with them all, so it makes a new scent -- no less familiar but certainly one he hasn't scented in years -- stand out. It's a mix of vanilla, cherry and almond, but not quite those scents -- in fact it comes from a specific flower, the heliotrope, whose purple leaves one woman in particular has always favored.

One Elizabeth 'Betsy' Braddock.

He looks her way, is surprised. She's smiling within the shadows, practically invisible. "Seeing if the old man still has game," comes her purring English timbre, and then she vanishes. He can still smell her -- somewhere outside the cabin.

Of course, Betsy would never make it easy for him. Her scent moves, away from him. Enticing. Challenging. It is an old game they used to play, they who always fought with unrestrained ferociousness whether through training or natural inclination.

/Come find me before I get my blade to your throat./ In all the years Psylocke has tried, the ninja has not yet bested the Wolverine's sharp nose. But they haven't played this game in two years. And she's curious.
Wolverine has posed:
Logan doesn't look shocked, it's a pleasant surprise. Then Betsy starts to vanish into the shadows. He grumbles a little bit, but puts the bacon on an unused stove burner. He kills the stove, kicks off the cowboy boots and slinks off into the shadows him.

She knocks at his mental door and Logan lets her in. Logan knows that Heliotrope smell, but only trusts it completely when it moves. She could easy coat some kind of bait for him to take.

Still, the moves are quiet, subdued and quick. Losing the boots help cover the fotofalls by a lot. Lettiing the animal, and instinctual, sides to himself rush forward helps. Logan knows the game and it's something he considers "fun."

Leave it for Logan to find amusement out of a game that could potentially kill him.
Psylocke has posed:
Stealth is a ninja's tool. It was Kwannon's bread and butter, and in the way Logan lets his animalistic side take control, Betsy lets Kwannon's expertise guide her, each footfall placed deliberately and quietly. In her way, Psylocke finds this fun as well. Certainly it's Kwannon's type of game -- kill or be killed. Betsy only marginally less so, with far more self-control. One of the few things they can agree on.

Logan's nose catches her scent on the breeze -- drawing him deeper into the woods. His eyes catch a glimpse of movement -- deliberate or accident -- in the same direction. She could be leading him into a trap.

Then again, that'd be fun, too.

Her unique scent leads him onwards, and his instinct not to trust it unless it's moving that wins him the game -- he can scent her ahead, and yet there's a second scent, somewhere in the tree above him -- an awareness of it that comes right as the purple-haired ninja drops down towards him, giving Logan just enough time to react to the gleaming blade in Betsy's hand.
Wolverine has posed:
Logan follows the scent, not unlike a blood hound. A predatory animal loose as he dives deeper into the woods. He smells that flower move in the breeze, as if it dances boefre him.

Logan believes that sighting is intentional, which means trap. She's too skilled to make a folly like that while being uninjured. Injured is another story.

Semlling Bety's scent of choice Logan stills himself, then when she comes down a hand aises up as she moves down. "SHNKT!" all three claws come out. His way of saying, "Got you!" without saying a word. He expected that. "Find a new scent, darlin'," he grins at her wth a vscious smile.
Psylocke has posed:
The blade flashes, faster than lighting as she drops -- but it merely /tinks/ against the adamantite claws. A second later her feet land soundlessly on the ground, and her eyes, a mix of frustration and admiration, land on him.

"Hm," comes her thoughtful hum. "I like my scent. Besides, that would be cheating."

Which Betsy does not do. ...okay, she totally does. But there are some things that stay sacrosanct to her. If she ever manages to best Logan at this game, she wants to do it fair and square. To a point, anyway. She slides the blade away, straightens as she pushes purple hair over her shoulder. She's wearing familiar, tight black leotard, though unlike normal her bare legs are covered with similarly dark material. There's no doubt the beautiful Japanese woman has kept herself in shape.

Now that Logan's closer, he can scent something else on her -- blood. Some of it is old, a healing wound probably, but there's also a fresh scent, like maybe she pulled it open. There's absolutely nothing in her body language that gives it away, but then she wouldn't.

Betsy takes in his expression, reads the animalistic nature of it, looks approving rather than concerned. "Bacon?" she says, by way of peace offering. Some part of her though remains alert. There are times when each of them have lost control, and she makes no assumptions -- not when it's been years.
Wolverine has posed:
"How bad is it?" Logan says of the cut. "I got a first aid kit in the cabin," he knows that the wound could be tended to. Yes, the instincts are out, but she hasn't pushed him to rage territory. He can keep a hand on the wheel under many conditions. So far, so good.

"Bacon," he says firmly back to the peace offering. "I was makin' scrambled eggs wit' em' before a ninja wanted to play," and Logan can either cook very elaborate meals or quick ones that get the job done. Eggs and bacon definitely fall into the latter portion in his mind. They're not bad, they taste pretty good but it's just something easy to do.

"What the hell are ya doin' out here?" he asks, although he will approve of the training. He doesn't think the wound is from her being rusty.
Psylocke has posed:
Trust a telepath to know where the line is. Betsy has no mind to push Logan over into something more bestial, even if she very easily could. He's long had her respect, and she has her own lines... even if they're far further than most people are aware.

His talk of wanting to play gets a hushed laugh from Betsy, her eyes amused. "Truthfully I thought you'd sense me before you got the bacon started, but... sometimes timing isn't right."

Like she hasn't brought out his animalistic side, like he isn't still a danger that she's wholly aware of, Betsy merely leans to slip an arm through Logan's to accompany him back towards the cabin. In some respects the prim, proper nature of her upbringing as English aristocracy never fully leaves her. Especially the stiff-upper-lip portion of it.

"It's nothing," Betsy says when he scents her wound, lips thinning a moment. The tall woman can only feel it when she moves, and she exhales. "I'll tend it while you cook?" What a delightful proposal, where he does all the work. Then again, she's a terrible cook. Even with eggs. Never need to know how to do it when you always have staff to do it for you. "I wanted to talk to you, away from... people who could overhear."
Wolverine has posed:
"It's more than nothin' if yer actually tendn' to it," Logan will point out. Taking her back to the cabn, he respects the prm and proper nature to he. He'll point at the closet that holds the med kit.

"My cookin' still better than yers?" Logan asks, it's his way of askng if she's actually learned anythng yet. He respects that she probably hasn't. Too much tme spent on what matters than learning to cook. Logan only leaned because he survived on hs own liver for a while. So, this is a response to avoiding the situation, if possible.

"Just us n here so talk," Logan says frmly to her as he begins to cook the bacon and work on the eggs. Bacon sizzles in the air. "Crispy or wimpy?" Logan asks, he prefers wimpy. There's something utterly visceral about weak bacon. it speaks to beastial parts of himself.
Psylocke has posed:
The faint, defiant lift of the Japanese-looking woman's chin somehow still conveys all the English haughtier Betsy grew up with. "Just taking a little longer to heal than I expected," the woman explains, as they reach the cabin. Her hand slips from his arm with a pat that rides the line between an unspoken thanks and a congratulations for his win. Again.

Even with her injury, it's mere habit for Betsy's hips to sway as she steps towards the closet. Years of modeling make that unthinking, as she bends to pull out the first aid kit. She sets it down on the table, popping the top, eyes flickering over the contents. Pulling out a chair, she sinks into it, and begins rolling her tights down, baring her legs. Prim and proper extends only so far, it seems: she's never been afraid to show off her body.

The wound is an inch long in her upper thigh, alarmingly close to her femoral artery. A sharp blade, certainly -- sharp and small and a quick cut. The wound, given its position, would have required the assailant to be close. It does seem strange for that reason -- who could manage to betray a telepath, especially one, like Betsy, who has no real qualms about using her powers as needed?

"Crispy. Close to black as you can make it," Betsy swings far the other way with her bacon preferences. "And yes, I think your cooking will always be better than mine, Logan," she says, with a smile, even as she presses a bit of gauze to the wound to try and stem the initial bleeding. As she works, she asks, "You remember that day I dragged you out to that field in the middle of nowhere to look at the bunker that was to be our base?" The start of the X-Force, talked about for months, finally gaining momentum... and then Betsy up and disappeared the next day.
Wolverine has posed:
Logan's used to these motions from her. Although, he always felt kind of bad for targets she brought close with her beauty. They always seemed blindsided by the deadly nature that can slip into those legs. T could be jarring.

"How'd they get so close?" Logan suspects it's a lover. To get that close to her -and- past the telepathy barriers, that person had to be good. Ocean blue eyes will try to look at her while working at the food.

Taking out the wimpy bacon, he continues cooking several strips to her preference. Does he questoin it? Yes. Does he openly question it? No. Some people like well-done steak, too. t's just a preference he gets in conception, but not execution.
Psylocke has posed:
Betsy doesn't often hide her temper, and it's apparent in this moment when Logan asks how it happened. Her eyes narrow, flashing in warning, even as she struggles not to snap. Her self-control is apparent, since after a beat she says, "A misjudgement on my part." So his guess is probably close to, if not right on the mark. "But I'm not here to talk about that."

That topic is closed.

Instead, she continues like he'd answered her latter question. It isn't a sure thing that he remembers -- he's had his memories messed with before. "That night after I dropped you off, I had a vision," Betsy says. Not too surprising. She's had precognitive visions before. Some helpful, most frustratingly obscure. "And every night since." One wouldn't know it to look at her, but then she's an expert with make-up. Her gaze is on the wound as she pulls free the gauze, sprays some antiseptic onto it, and places fresh gauze over the wound, before she begins to wind a bandage around her thigh to hold it in place.

"It's gotten worse and worse over time. I traveled to find people who could help me interpret it, because the intensity and frequency of it was... nothing I'd experienced before." Betsy sighs as she pins the bandage in place, and carefully rolls up her tights.

Just in time for bacon!

"I'd offer to share, but it's... bad, and I think you probably have enough nightmares of your own. Suffice it to say it's extinction level stuff, and what it tells me is that X-Force needs to happen. With different people than we'd envisioned it back then. But it needs to happen sooner than later." She shivers. He hasn't really seen her afraid often before. Certainly not since she was put in Kwannon's body and merged minds with hers.

"It'll have to be black ops. Separate from Xavier's. Are you still in?" her weighted gaze gives nothing away. Betsy knows he's /needed/ but not why, and she doesn't push. Not yet, anyway.
Wolverine has posed:
"Just tell me who to stab," Logan replies to miscalculation. At least he's there for her revenge. He has her back in that regard.

Logan's quiet for a long while. "Listen, I ain't against a Black Ops team. Sometimes the team might need to take that step," Xavier's dynamic with Magneto's tactics. Bold and borderline presses against Xavier's mission statement. "The only thing that keeps me from sayin' yes, outright, is the numbers darlin'. X-Men are hurtin'. Lotta people are gone, even Cyclops. Last thing anyone wants is to create some kinda 'X Civil War,'" which she barely missed out on.

"I ain't sayn' 'No.' I'm sayn' we somehow gotta be smart. Even if the group is unofficial," he looks at her for a moment. He's thinking of the ideas. Someone has been on a similar wave length. Although his ideas had a different starting point than hers.

"Even got a recruit fer it, which brings the next hurdle. Her stealth suit would need to be somethin' special. Her powers, long story short, she's borderline nuclear. Hell of a support player. Green, shouldn't get her hands dirty like we have, but any group would be lucky to have the fire power," Logan says, just trying to show Betsy how much they may be on the same page with the team. He already has an interested party.

Logan will gather up the eggs and bacon to their respective plates with a fork on each.

"Like I said, if we do anythin' like that. We gotta be smart. Scott's gone. Haven't seen Hank in months. I think Warren's back," he starts to go through names.
Psylocke has posed:
"I will, if it ever comes up." As if Betsy would outsource revenge. Oh no. That sort of thing is personal.

"It's unofficial," Psylocke agrees. "And I don't mean for us -- any of us -- to have to relinquish our ties to the X-Men, unless you want to." Even without being a telepath, she can tell he's thinking. It makes her smile, and makes her want to reflexively reach out mentally to see where his thinking is. It's only past experience with Logan's confusing mind that makes her stay her hand, rather than any ethical lines.

"Anyone that is going to join needs to be willing to go the distance. Willing to get dirty. And I mean dirty. We're going to have to hurt people, kill people, Logan. I don't want anyone, especially anyone green, finding themselves immediately in over their heads. Once we start on this road, it's going to get bad for anyone involved. I know you've seen and done worse, Logan. But to do that to someone who hasn't experienced the kinds of things we have...?"

Betsy does have some lines. She's being careful in who she's talking to, because she knows she has to live with the guilt of whatever comes afterwards.

"I trust you, Logan. You know that. But think on it before you pull in someone. What you might be asking them to do, be willing to do."

The smile Betsy gives is unconscious when he mentions Warren, hard to miss though. She and Warren haven't been together since before Betsy left, but that old pull is still present. "Warren's back," she agrees, "And he's in. We'll be smart about this. Careful. We need Magik -- I'll be tracking her down next. And I'm thinking about the Cajun." There's a tilt of her head, seeking Logan's thoughts on the man.
Wolverine has posed:
"The group could work if one or two won't cross the line," he says looking at her. "We shoulder the burden so others don't," Logan says and he's just thinking of firefights. They need a heavy kinetic of some kind, maybe some muscle, too. "Try Warthpath," Logan and him haven't talked, but there's enough Logan knows to trust that gamble.

And Betsy has been recruiting, too. "Don't know 'bout any of them headspace wise. Can they handle it?" because Logan thinks X-Force can have or two people that won't cross the line. Everyone though? No. That's not feasible. Lines need to be crossed. Logan firmly believes someone that -won't- kill will keep the others human. Because the line between protecting and killing without purpose is very thin. A neutral party can keep them human. However, this group can't have a majority like that. More, than not, need to be able to cross lines. Shoulder a burden most of their teammates will not.

"Illyana might be able to handle it. Don't know 'bout the Canjun or Warren," and he notes that smile. "Still chasin' a Cherub?" he asks with a raised brow.
Psylocke has posed:
Betsy murmurs a thanks for the plate of food, as she finishes packing away the med-kit, disposing of the bloody gauze and making sure to return the kit to the closet. Once she settles back at the table, she picks up her fork, pausing to look at him. "You really believe that?" she asks. "I've seen worse tear a team apart. If we aren't on the same page there, it's going to create friction. You want to deal with that, fine. It's your responsibility."

"Illyana will, as will Warren," Betsy says with confidence. "I'm not as certain about the Cajun, but I intend to test him and find out." Somehow, it's impossible to tell whether that's going to be a great experience or a terrible experience. With a telepath, it could as readily be either.

Her expression shifts when Logan says that last. "No," she says, firmly. "That door's been closed for a while, for good reasons. None of which have changed." She sounds like she's trying to convince herself as much as him. "All I can do is... think, dream about this thing. It's like a cloud constantly hanging in my thoughts. There's no room for anything else."

Except bacon. It's extra crispy and by her expression, Betsy very much appreciates how well done it is.
Wolverine has posed:
Logan gves a nod to Betsy. He expects no less, and honestly, Logan's not one-hundred percent sure she would join. STill, he's going to ask because they talked about it a few weeks back. The conversation is not exactly old.

"Cajun's a grey area fer me. Steal someone, yes, he can," but Logan knows the line is very large between stealing and killing. They're different animals from every aspect imaginable.

"What will ya do when the visions stop?" Logan asks her honestly. He knows the visions she has probably keeps a lot of things at bay. However, everyone usually has an exit plan when the mission is over. Few don't. He's trying to see something about betsy.
Psylocke has posed:
Betsy's working her way through the bacon and eggs. As temping as it is just to pick up the crispy bacon with her hands, she's too well-bred to do so, so knife and fork it is. Sadly that means some of the crispier parts of the bacon are going to crack off, and be missed out on.

Logan's agreeing nod is met with a brief smile. "Well, okay then." She seems accepting, of that and his assessment about the Cajun. "We're going to need someone who is a good thief." She doesn't explain why, or how she knows, she just sounds /absolutely certain/. "If need be, he can be one of your anchors." That's how Betsy's interpreted Logan's argument. Anchors to try and pull them back from the brink. She has her doubts, but she trusts him enough to see how it goes.

The latter question catches her off guard, and for a moment Betsy's face slips as she passes a hand over her eyes. She looks /exhausted/. "Probably sleep for two weeks," she smiles briefly. "Find a carribean island to hide out in. I don't know. I honestly haven't thought that far. I can't let myself." A beat, as the smile fades. "I'm not sure if we'll all survive this." It's not the first time, but she wants him to understand the stakes they're playing for. And why she's so focused.
Wolverine has posed:
"I know the stakes darlin'. You wouldn't be talkin' if there wasn't some kinda reason behidn it," Logan doesn't doub t the gravity of the matter. He doesn't doubt any of it.

"Not sure if Gambit would be an anchor," Logan says. The man's a master thief and likes various other bits. They don't make him a bad guy, but not a moral compass.

"Darlin'. Sometimes ya gotta give yerself a -reason- to survivie. Often, it's a reward after the war. What ya would do when ya no longer have to pick up the weapon," he says honestly looking at Betsy. Knowing he has the voice of expierence on his side.
Psylocke has posed:
"Don't need someone to be a saint. Just... better placed than us." Betsy is practical about this. She's aware she changed once she merged with Kwannon, once she was placed in the ninja assassin's body. It caused her angst for a long time, but she's learned to live with it and accept it. Learned, long ago, that any wistful desire to return to her own body was fruitless and a waste of energy.

Certainly, if anyone has experience with picking up the pieces after a war, after losing everything, Logan would. It's why Betsy affords him the length of her gaze, eyes flickering over his expression, trying to read his expression. She sets the cutlery down, exhaling. And then she does the thing she absolutely should not: she reaches out to touch his mind.

Knowing it's a terrible idea. Doing it anyway.
Wolverine has posed:
Logan feels the knocking on his mind. She would knock for a while before he relents and waits to see what awaits him. Logan knows she might share the vision. Ocean blue eyes close and he waits to see what awaits him.
Psylocke has posed:
Being in Logan's head hurts. There's just no way around it. His mind has been built and rebuilt, shifted around so many times, that it doesn't feel like anyone else's head. It's a trap for the unwary telepath. And while Betsy is more hammer than scalpel ike the Professor or Jean, since her merge with Kwannon her powers have only grown stronger. Instead of riding the waves of his thoughts, she cuts through them.

Her thoughts are not dissimilar to those she portrays aloud. She still /feels/ like Betsy, but there's a sharpness to her, a coldness that is part of the other entity she's absorbed. "See," Betsy whispers, and everything shifts. They are standing, suddenly, in the middle of New York -- Manhattan, to be exact. The skies overhead are dark, despite it being daytime -- unnatural clouds of dark boiling in the sky, a glimmer of something pulsing through. It feels like a breath almost, except every time they take a breath inside, they breathe in something that makes them choke, something that turns their limbs into lead.

All around them in the streets, shadows spill outwards. A couple eating outside at a cafe suddenly begin weeping and wailing, grabbing at each other, slapping and pulling with frenetic despair. A group of businessman walking out of an office building suddenly drop to the ground, writhing and pulling their own hair out. Other pedestrians start screaming in terror, staring at nothing that can be seen, leaping out in front of traffic in what seems to be a deliberate act. While they stand there, frozen, a dozen more horrific such scenes play out, a frenzy of violence and fear.

Everything goes silent, as if humanity itself has been extinguished. And in the wake of that silence, a presence is felt, pushing down from those impossibly dark clouds. Wolverine knows primal sensations, and he's no stranger to fear. But this is the sort of entity that predates all life; the sort of presence that makes even his hair stand on end as he feels it reaching out for them...

At the same time, Betsy reaches for a memory of Logan's, her hand landing on his arm within the mental landscape. Seeking what he spoke of, something he rewarded himself with something that drove him to continue, the thing that kept him going. It's that memory that she uses to pull him -- them -- out of that vision, back into the moment, leaving only the wake of the intense and too-present feeling of that impossible-to-comprehend entity. Betsy's shaking, unapologetic about it, wrapping arms around herself as she breathes out sharply.
Wolverine has posed:
Logan wanders into the mental scape. He feels Betsy reach out of the mental projection version of him. Logan sees the details. The people mutanting, or distorting before his eyes. Becoming ugly charicatures to what they were. He loks back to her knowing the vision would be bad. So far, this is exactly what he's pictured it looks like. Ocean blue eyes flick around the place more. "We should get goin' darlin'," Logan offerrs knowing that they're going to move through some kind of mental projection. Eventually Psylocke pulls them out. He was expecting more. It's still horrific. Like a Pink Floyd music video mets a horror film. He did picture a little more peppered in.

When they're back in reality Logan looks at her. "Do ya know what causes the changes?" It's an honest thought. He just pictures how many times Betsy has seen this nightmare. It probably has worn on her mentally.
Psylocke has posed:
The world out here feels hyper-real by comparison. It's an odd sensation that will take a few moments to adjust to.

Betsy just sucks in a shuddering breath. "Sometimes where I am shifts. I see different people, different parts of the city, mostly. I can't seem to see back past that moment, though. I can't see what causes it or how we get there."

"It isn't so bad. Y-you get used to it after the twelfth or thirteenth time. Of course, then you notice little details. Like the little girl, over by the school-" but she stops, choking up. Betsy isn't the sort to give into her emotions, certainly not to cry. But it affects her deeply, and her eyes gleam with unshed tears as she looks away.

"...you got anything to drink?" she asks, after a quiet moment.
Wolverine has posed:
Logan just puts a hand on her shoulder. Then his hand will slip away. "Beer's in the fridge. Scotch is in one of the cabinets next to the fridge," Logan offers those few offerings as a hope. The beer is imported from Japan. The scotch is just a top shelf variety. Something that will make rich people feel sophisticated, alcoholics appreciate the flavor compared to their usuals and everything along these lines. Logan gives her carte blanche to drink as much as she likes. Betsy could get away with a lot right now.
Psylocke has posed:
The glance upwards from Betsy is wordless, but she's grateful for the moment of contact, of comfort, anyway. A little thing to help ground her back in reality rather than in that horrific vision.

After a moment, the purple-haired woman pushes to her feet. If she knew the beer was Japanese, Kwannon would push for it. As is, she veers by preference towards the scotch. That it's good scotch -- the sort /she/ would drink -- is certainly appreciated.

Whatever mood she's in though she's not a savage; she collects two glasses and the bottle both, bringing them back to the table, pouring a generous measure in each. Nudging one of the glasses towards Logan, she offers a fleeting, probably forced smile. "To unfucking the future," she toasts, downing the whole glass in one hit. No savoring tonight.
Wolverine has posed:
Taking the glass, "To unfucking the future," and then after the toast he sets the other glass next to he. "Ya need it more than I do," he says firmly. He knows the mental toll visions like tha tan dwhat they can do. His gaze going to her. Logan won't ask obvious questions. "Help yerself to a third n' the bed if ya need it. I can always go back to the mansion, set up shop in my room there," he says honestly, just letting Betsy know she can relax here. Find a way to just let her guard down, even if it's just for eight hours of sleep.
Psylocke has posed:
Violet eyes focus on the the second glass when Logan sets it down in front of her. Betsy laughs, quietly, when he observes she needs it more than him. "That bad, huh?" she asks, ruefully. But there's gratitude in the observation and she doesn't turn away the offer. Nor the one of safe haven for a bit.

Whatever else, she trusts Logan's gut more than anything.

"Thanks, Logan," Betsy exhales. "I think I'll take you up, on both those things."

She probably won't get a full night's rest, but she appreciates the intent of the gesture all the same.