She really needed to unpack her room. Boxes were stacked haphazardly across the floor, clothes littering the hardwood as she'd hunted for particular garments. The bed was unmade and a massive suitcase lay on her window seat, innards exposed and trailing onto the floor. Carys winced. She wasn't a clean freak by any means, but she wasn't usually [i]this[/i] sloppy.

Nose scrunched in concentration, Carys dug through one of the boxes in search of something suitably unwrinkled. After several moments she was rewarded with a loose cream top and floral patterned shorts. She took a moment to braid her still-drying hair. Satisfied that she no longer looked like a gremlin, Carys padded out of her room.

Chase wasn't difficult to find, lingering in the kitchen, no IPA in sight. His loss. Grinning widely, she jerked her thumb over her shoulders to the stairs.

"All the boxes taking over the dining room are going upstairs, I figure we should get that over with."

Flouncing to the impressive pile--boxes mostly packed with books and display pieces--she lifted one and balanced it against her hip, leading the way with her usual enthusiasm.

The upstairs was a sprawling room, walls lined with handsome, mostly empty bookcases, and massive windows that let in the light. Crisp white trim and wood with rich, navy walls, it had the makings of a studio. Three cellos had been stood near a window, one electric and paired with a large amplifier and neatly wound cables. A thin folding chair and stand were leaned against the nearby wall. It was evident that that was the only bit of unpacking Carys had bothered to do in the three days she had lived in Port Byrne.

Setting her box down in front of one of the emptier bookcases, she grinned apologetically to Chase.

"Sorry, I realised I shouldn't have packed all my books into their own boxes when I tried moving them in New York, but by then it was too late to fix it. Oops."