( no, this isn't an invitation for a ménage à trois.

this particular disaster leaves kara's daily life basically uninterrupted, as neither her work nor her apartment happen to be in the wake of what the cadelle times are calling a flash flood — not that this really qualifies as a flood, though she has to admit that the few inches of standing water in the ground floors of the communal housing buildings don't exactly lend themselves to any other descriptors — but it impacts other people, some of whom she's particularly fond of. so it's with her eternal mom friend optimism that kara texts her friends: )

are you okay? did you find a place to stay?

( in reality, there's not much kara can do that a free hotel room can't, but it feels good to check in on people. let them know someone is thinking of them. it feels like the right thing to do. )

( why is she here? why did kara agree to come back, her own gingham-patterned sleepwear kept on with a determined glare to anyone who dared to question her choices, and why exactly did she agree to take the suspiciously sharp smelling vial from ... well, somebody?

she can't remember who she got it from, or why she agreed to come to this party, or when she happened to fall into place on a very comfortable recliner in the living room of this unreasonably large suite — all kara knows is that she's here, and the sweet taste of the liquor in the vial had made her want another (and maybe another after that too), and that right now, her view of the plasma screen on the wall is being blocked by somebody. )

Hey! Hey! You're... you're blocking my show!

( don't ask her why reruns of the west wing are so important right now. they just are. )