Since she had already waited a short while for the answer to the most recent of questions, and an estimated seven months for the answer to the first, Mimsy had already decided that she could wait as long as it took for Robert to come out and answer her. Though he didn't open the door very quickly, evidence of activity was very clearly coming from the room. She squinted in bewilderment at the door, trying her best to determine what was possibly causing all of that. Either Robert was punishing himself far better than she ever could for annoying her, or this was what it sounded like to have a wife. Her look of confusion slowly shifted into a frown.
She greatly preferred Kostya instead of a spouse. Especially if what she was hearing was any indication of normal reactions.
The door opened long enough for her to open her mouth, but closed again before she could even get a word out. She folded her arms and stared at the door as coldly as she could manage, as though it had been the door that slammed itself back in her face. When it opened again, her expression only softened a little - before veering back into confusion again.
"Are you 'wearing' solely a bedsheet?" She was trying very hard not to stare at the sheet, nor at...almost all of the rest of him, really, which was how she settled on the spot he'd been covering on his head. "I have been presented with disorienting circumstances as of late, so I am not optimal."
Instead of asking how he was in return, she looked at him and made an educated guess. It was fairy easy this time: there was a very clear difference since the last time she had seen him.
"I see that you regained your legs. Should we somewhere to locate a cold compress for your injury, or are you confident that it won't impede your ability to recall and communicate information?"
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