At least no one painted their toenails.

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Clarice tottered to Warren’s room trying to carry a plate of double stuffed Oreo cookies and a bottle of milk without falling over. She had stolen a pair of Monet’s stilettos and was amazed anyone could walk in them. “Hey, Warren!” she called, not trusting herself to knock on the door.

A muffled reply came through the door. "Come in, it's unlocked," Warren called back.

“Easier said than done if you want cookies!” she called back through the door.

Warren grunted and rolled out of his bed, where he'd been grading some problem sets for the next class. "Okay," he replied, "but you'd better not be joking about the cookies." He opened the door to see Clarice balancing precariously on a very high pair of shoes. "Whoa there," he remarked, taking the plate and bottle out of her hands. "Come on in."

“Thanks,” she tottered in, shedding the shoes as soon as she was in the room, “How do people walk in these torture devices?!”

Warren set the plate and bottle on his desk. "I was about to ask you the same thing," he said. He took a cookie for himself and offered one to her. "What's with the strange shoes, then?"

“I think they’re Monet’s. She’s moved into my room while everyone was on break and suddenly the shoes are multiplying like rabbits! And everything else for that matter, she has so much crap!” she munched on a cookie before continuing, “And it’s all ‘designer’ of course.”

"Hey now. Don't diss on the designer labels." He studied the bright pink instrument of torture in front of him. "Prada. Of course." He tossed it back down on the floor. "That still doesn't explain why /you/ decided to start wearing them. And why did she move into your room, anyway?" he asked, pouring two glasses of milk for Clarice and himself.

“I was tempted to use them to torture her, just on principle. But then…” Clarice shrugged and drank her milk leaving both cookie crumbs and a milk mustache, which she only half wiped away. “It was too tempting. I’ll give them back, heaven knows I don’t want them!”

Warren leaned over and wiped off her milk-and-cookie moustache with a Kleenex. "Shoes like that make me thank God I'm a man," he smirked. "Wait, why did you say she was living in your room?"

Clarice looked blank, “I think a pipe broke…” she trailed off thinking, “I was in England at the time.”

Yes. So was I, remember?" Warren studied the contents of the plate before picking an oatmeal raisin cookie for himself. "So she's not exactly the roommate from heaven, I gather."

Again, she shrugged, “I haven’t seen her much since coming back, only her stuff. When’s Piotr coming back?”

Warren made a face. "Not till the middle of fucking May. And that's at the earliest. He says the plans keep changing." He crammed another oatmeal raisin cookie into his mouth. "Whatever," he said through his crumbs with more bitterness than he'd intended.

“Hey no!” Clarice leaned over and gave him a hug, “You’re allowed to miss him or whatever, and he is your boyfriend.”

Warren was knocked back by the force of Clarice's hug and almost spilled his glass of milk. He set the cup on the desk before hugging her back. "Thanks, love," he said with a small laugh.

“It’s true,” she stated, nodding resolutely, “That’s why they make all chick flicks where the couple can’t live without each other until destiny brings them back together.”

Warren rolled his eyes. "I do miss him, but I don't think it's quite that dramatic." He took a large gulp of milk. "Enough about me. Let's talk about you. How's your love life doing then, Clarice? Hook up with any hot British boys in Brighton?"

Clarice made a most un-ladylike snort, “I have a love life? Helloooo, Earth to Warren, my stuffed Hello Kitty gets more action than I do! Besides,” she mumbled, “the guy I like is taken…”

Warren raised an eyebrow. A guy Clarice liked? This was news to him. "Who is this man with such terrible taste that he'd choose another over you?"

“No one!” she denied, vehemently, “No one! Figment of my overactive imagination!”

Come on, Clarice," he said with exaggerated patience. "The first step is admitting you have a problem."

“I’ll have a problem if I admit it!” she exclaimed, trying to figure out a way to make the past couple minutes disappear, “I’m not stupid!”

Warren gave her a mock-threatening look. "Don't make me tickle you," he warned. "Because I will do whatever it takes to get this out of you, you know."

Clarice shrieked, scooting away from him, “Not tickling! Noooo!”

“Then are you going to tell me who it is?" Warren said loudly, wiggling his fingers ominously.

“Ebil!” she shrieked, “I’ll never tell!”

He shook his head and sighed. "Then I'm afraid I have no choice." He lunged at her and reached for her sides, where he knew she was ticklish.

“Aaaaaaaah! Brute,” she collapsed into the fetal position, laughing uncontrollably, “Cad!”

"Are you going to tell me?" he shouted over her giggles. "I'm not stopping until you do!"

“Not fair!” she screeched, gasping for breath. “Stop, stop! I’ll tell you!”

Warren ceased instantly and sat up straight. "Okay. Who is it, then?"

Clarice glared at him and slowly uncurled, “Not. Fair.” she pouted, “Jono.”

"Ohhh, Jono," Warren repeated, grinning. "Hey, that's not so bad. I think he's rather cute."

“Cute?” she repeated, shocked, “You’re joking.”

It was Warren's turn to be surprised. "What’s wrong with saying he's cute?"

“N-nothing,” Clarice blushed fuchsia, “But don’t tell anyone! You gotta promise! I’m not going to hurt Paige or Angelo like that!”

Warren held up his hands. "Chill, babe. I won't, I promise. My lips are sealed. Not a word to anyone. Not even Piotr, who's on the other side of the universe. So how long has this been going on, anyway?"

“Not long,” she said, still blushing, “Since England.”

"Ah." Warren gave her a wry smile. "Not exactly the easiest situation to be in, is it?"

“Better than wham-bam, thank you ma’am.”

He raised an eyebrow. "I suppose," he said, leaning on the bed. Suddenly, he leaned in toward her. "What's that on your eye, Clarice?"

Clarice shifted on the floor, nervous. Tonight was just one big gossip fest apparently, “A tattoo…”

"A tattoo!" Warren was taken aback. "Where the hell did you get a tattoo? You're only fifteen."

“Amanda knew a place in Brighton. Was kinda a bet thing. She said I didn’t need an image inducer in Brighton and I didn’t believe her and so she dragged me to the piercing and tattoo shop ‘cause she wanted her nose redone and I wanted….well, I don’t know…I like it.”

There was a trace of disapproval in his frown, but when he spoke, his tone was even. "You must've gotten it at the end of the trip, after I took off for Paris, huh? I would have seen it otherwise." He stared at it. "Did it hurt?"

“No, not really. Amanda did a spell thing so my face was numb,” she paused, “My parents are going to kill me, aren’t they?”

Warren nodded. "I think that's a pretty safe bet, yeah." He smiled faintly. "Have to admit, though, it does look pretty cool. I've always wanted to get a tattoo myself, actually, just never had the guts to go through with it."

“I don’t think I would have if I’d thought about it,” she shrugged again, smiling brightly, “but thinking before doing something stupid has never stopped me before!”

"Typical." Warren rolled his eyes and changed the subject. "Brighton was pretty nice, wasn't it? It felt so good to not have to strap my wings down for once."

“It was…different,” Clarice responded cautiously, “I could get used to it.”

"I couldn't," he declared. "But it would be nice to visit sometimes, I think. Even though I had a few people trying to pluck the feathers off my wings."

“Really? she giggled, “Why do that when you shed?”

"Hey, I don't shed that often," he pointed out. He pretended to preen. "I can't help it if everyone wants a piece of me," he said haughtily.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re hot stuff, we know,” she petted his hair, “Good boy.”

Warren glared at her. "Why do I feel like I'm being made fun of?"

“Hey look! We’re out of cookies!” she seemed surprised.

Warren turned to look at the plate. "Not true, we have two left. One for me, one for you," he said, handing her an Oreo. He dunked his in a glass of milk, and then crammed it into his mouth

“Big mouth,” she said, dropping an Oreo half into her milk and letting it dissolve and eating the other half. “Mmm, Oreo chocolate milk.”

Warren ignored Clarice and gulped down the last of his milk. "Ahhhh," he said, satisfied. "Delicious."