all of the strangers are gone

"Alright, Mister Know-It-All," Isla snarks to him affectionately, having quite forgotten about Sunjata the Menagerie, despite the spiralling, horned evidence right before her eyes. Grabbing up a couple of the blankets she'd folded, she gets comfortable with them while he putters about getting undressed, and in a wild, murder mystery romance novel of their own, this might be the part for covert glances and blushing. But no. On the contrary - not only has Isla seen it all before, however scarred and handsome it might be (and it is, don't worry Sunjata) - but it's with an expression of baffled amusement that she watches him make absolutely zero sense. From the balled up shirt he's careful not to catch with his horns to the meticulously folded pants, the shorts he wiggles into and the whole ass bottle of liquor, the medic thinks hard about saying something, and opts (perhaps wisely) to do no such thing. Instead, clearing her throat and opening the book, she casts a sidelong look at him. "If I hear you snoring I'll try to take it as a compliment," she jests. ISLA