i'm pure at heart, it repels the dirt

After a couple of days of actual sleep and food, Isabelle was starting to feel (and look) a little better. She was almost feeling normal. Soon she'd get back to her usual training, and everything would be as it was supposed to.

But she was still feeling the island-induced itch. No matter how many times she got rid of it, it always came back. And so, she was trying to divert that energy into some other things. Today, that thing was cleaning her room. Like, really cleaning it. Not Jace-level cleaning, but close enough to it by her standards. She'd gone through the piles of clothes that usually littered her floor and the chair at her desk, and sorted them and put them where they belonged, whether it was the laundry basket or the closet. She'd thrown out bottles of dried nail polish. She'd even pulled her bed apart, back into two beds, so she could clean the floor underneath it.

Sexual frustration was what it took for her to actually clean her room properly. Who knew?

[ooc: Door/post open!]

Isabelle's day so far: A jog in the morning, followed by about three hours of training down in the gym. Class assuming that happened, omg. Rearranging her closet. Cleaning all her knives. Rearranging her vanity table. Rearranging her dresser. Sharpening all her knives. Sharpening all her makeup pencils. Re-rearranging her closet.

By the time she was trying to arrange her thigh sheaths so that they were hanging with the dresses they best went with – which was right now – she was starting to wonder if another three-hour training session would be totally out of the question to work out all this excess energy she didn't seem to be able to get rid of.

This week could be over any time now. Seriously, any time.

[ooc: Open door/post!]