She looked around at the piles of unsorted and untidied Things everywhere, then at the clock. Nine thirty. One hour. Okay then. She pulled her chasuble over her head, threw it at the bedpost where it normally lived, swore as it knocked a cup of water off the table, grabbed a towel, threw *that* at the spill, put the cup back on the side, paused, and took several deep breaths.
Forcing herself to move slowly and carefully, she lit the fire she was very grateful to have left in the grate that morning, then surveyed the chaos that was her chamber. Making sure the twigs and then the bigger logs caught forced her to relax as much as she was able, which was admittedly not a high bar.
Right. Prioritise.
Bed first, then. Since. Well. You know. She methodically gathered up the piles of proofs that she had been planning to spend the evening with, stacked them in alternating directions on her desk, turned back to the bed, swore again, turned back to the desk and put the paperweight on top, turned back to the bed a second time. Dirty underclothes next- didn't we have a laundry bag somewhere, she asked herself as she made a pile on the floor... make that two piles, she thought to herself, don't let the socks get in with the linens even if you do have a pretty good excuse right now. Blankets. There should be some blankets and they shouldn't be the one with the holes or the threadbare one. Check. Is there anything embarrassing on the bedside table other than the start of a water spill? Current reading matter: "Bindings and Bargains with Wood Spirits" and a smaller volume "Our Jeannette Does Arginet", no, leaving those, he'll find it funny if he noti... *when* he notices. She threw a handkerchief into the linen laundry pile and swept assorted bits and bobs into the drawer underneath. Tomorrow she would curse her past self, but tomorrow was a long way off.
She looked back at the fire, which was burning brightly and starting to get hot. Then around the rest of the room.
She found a pillowcase, stuffed the laundry in it, forced it into the bottom of the wardrobe. Looked around again. Picked up two dirty plates and a knife, pulled a box out from under the bed and put them in it. Her eyes landed on the towel she'd thrown at the water spill. She swore yet again, pulled the pillowcase full of laundry out of the wardrobe, shoved the towel in the top of it, squeezed it back into the wardrobe then leant on the door until the latch clicked shut.
Right, she thought. If it gets any neater than this he'll suspect something's up. Best leave it at that. She carefully took off her belt and daggers, and placed them reverently in the empty space amidst the chaos on the dresser that was just the right size. Then she went to her desk, and wrote a list. "Proofs earliest at bottom. Bedside drawer. Laundry in wardrobe (WARNING WET TOWEL). Plates." She folded it in half and tucked it into one of the scabbards; however much sleep she didn't get, she'd stumble across it the next morning even if she'd forgotten about it by then.
The fire was warm. She looked at the clock again. Twenty past ten. Royce would be gently asking people to leave soon. An impish grin crossed her face and she took off her shirt and trousers, remembered to fold them neatly on a chair rather than throw them on the floor, then put the chasuble back on. She unfastened her hair from its braid and brushed it out.
Then, as she heard the temple clock chime the half hour, she sank down gratefully into the chair- on top of the clothes, of course, but nobody's perfect. She picked up a notebook and completely failed to write anything in it as she listened for footsteps in the corridor.
There was a tap on the door, and she opened it, all smiles.