[ The moment that she's out, she's out. For stretches of time, it's a restful sleep, deep and untroubled, utterly blank and devoid of anything that isn't the black backs of her eyelids. Or maybe that is a dream, a reflection of the last eight days spent in darkness with only the bobbing guide of three flashlight beams to cut through it all.
When she does wake up, briefly, Claire doesn't stop to consider the possibility. Her alarm goes off after three hours, and she hovers in between awake and asleep long enough to send a message to whoever it is keeping an eye on the dogs in comms, asking them to please keep them a little while longer, she's so tired, drop them off back at the room and please feed them, etc. She doesn't drift off completely again until the unit chirps in affirmation, and then it's back under, submerged once again.
Waking up for good is a slow process, and she hasn't moved very much in almost eight hours so while her bones don't ache, everything weirdly still feels stiff. For a while, she fights with this new conscious state, rejecting it in favor of the alternative. Eventually she extracts a hand from where it's been curled into a ball between them and scrubs at her face, pushing a substantially larger amount of hair back from her eyes and nose than was there when she laid down to begin with. ]
Good morning. [ Bleary. Eyes closed. She hopes her breath doesn't stink and she just manages to avoid a typical morning stretch while still in such close proximity. ] How long was I asleep?
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When she does wake up, briefly, Claire doesn't stop to consider the possibility. Her alarm goes off after three hours, and she hovers in between awake and asleep long enough to send a message to whoever it is keeping an eye on the dogs in comms, asking them to please keep them a little while longer, she's so tired, drop them off back at the room and please feed them, etc. She doesn't drift off completely again until the unit chirps in affirmation, and then it's back under, submerged once again.
Waking up for good is a slow process, and she hasn't moved very much in almost eight hours so while her bones don't ache, everything weirdly still feels stiff. For a while, she fights with this new conscious state, rejecting it in favor of the alternative. Eventually she extracts a hand from where it's been curled into a ball between them and scrubs at her face, pushing a substantially larger amount of hair back from her eyes and nose than was there when she laid down to begin with. ]
Good morning. [ Bleary. Eyes closed. She hopes her breath doesn't stink and she just manages to avoid a typical morning stretch while still in such close proximity. ] How long was I asleep?