"mornin', sugarlips." she clatters into the seat next to you, her needless noise filling the otherwise quiet library. her face-paint is sloppy, and her robes are 'artfully' scruffy. you've been up since eight, and she's only trudging out of bed now at eleven. you're still no closer to figuring out the second theorem chamber, and she's not exactly any help.

seeming to sense your stress, she reaches out and rubs your shoulder soothingly. "want breakfast? or a nap? or a massage? or a fight? I can go on."

well... she's a little help. it's not like you can't use the company, and she's certainly easy on the eyes. "let's fight. it's good for you. oh! orrrr... we could make fun of Teacher. throw stuff at him when he walks past. God, you just- the eyebags are actually making me tired just to look at."

making up her mind, she pulls your seat out (with you on it) and pulls you up by the hands.

"I'll carry you if I have to, sunshine. break time."