The striking woman in the silk nightgown, who under normal circumstances might chide conversational partners for an extreme use of expletives, catches her breath slowly and takes in a room that most certainly belongs to a young bachelor while said young bachelor tries to reassure her that he won't fling the nearest object at her.

It isn't messy, but it is unkempt - pieces of clothing strewn about haphazardly, a single light on, resting upon the dresser, small objects she recognises as more modern camera equipment for portable, mobile filming.

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other Evelyn wishes that she had thought to retrieve a robe in her unconscious state, as the floor is very cold and her skin prickles like gooseflesh. How far had she wandered? What floor is this?

Furrowing her brow at the nearest clock she looks to him again, perplexed.

"...you were going out at three in the morning?"