001. intro.
[She wakes up slowly, but something’s wrong. This isn’t her bed, it’s too big and too comfy. And this certainly isn’t her room, it doesn’t look anything like this. She gets up and wanders around, looking through the house, getting more and more confused and suspicious. She’s obviously not a morning person, but she’s assessing her surroundings.
As she wanders, almost sneaking, through the kitchen, she finds a picture of her with three other people on the fridge. She instantly feels the need to burn it, and reaches into her pocket for her lighter. But, she now realizes, her lighter isn’t in her pocket; indeed, she has no pocket to keep a lighter in.] Oh fuck. [That’s when the worry reaches her eyes; she looks positively terrified. She races back to the bedroom and races through the dressers, bedside tables, and closet. Her clothes aren’t there, and neither is her lighter.
She races out of the house, still in a nightdress, and tries to find her bearings. This isn’t her base, it’s nowhere near her base. There’s no desert, just -dare she admit it- quaint little houses. She’s still tired, but she doesn’t have coffee or a flame; no time for that, anyway. She half-stumbles half-races down the street, looking wildly about, trying to find out what this horrible, devilish construct could be. She needs answers, but she’ll need to find someone first. If she does, however, find someone, she’s most likely to take out her worry and confusion and suspicion on them. She’s trying to find something familiar; anything. Even just a person might be enough, if they could shake her out of this stupor and get her back to thinking properly.]
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! [The resounding yell should get something to happen, but right now she’s too worn out to see what. She plops down where she is (which is, unfortunately, the middle of the road) and tries to catch her breath. She might be standing by the time you find her, though.]
ooc: and now I'm off for today! Tags will be sometime late in the evening.
As she wanders, almost sneaking, through the kitchen, she finds a picture of her with three other people on the fridge. She instantly feels the need to burn it, and reaches into her pocket for her lighter. But, she now realizes, her lighter isn’t in her pocket; indeed, she has no pocket to keep a lighter in.] Oh fuck. [That’s when the worry reaches her eyes; she looks positively terrified. She races back to the bedroom and races through the dressers, bedside tables, and closet. Her clothes aren’t there, and neither is her lighter.
She races out of the house, still in a nightdress, and tries to find her bearings. This isn’t her base, it’s nowhere near her base. There’s no desert, just -dare she admit it- quaint little houses. She’s still tired, but she doesn’t have coffee or a flame; no time for that, anyway. She half-stumbles half-races down the street, looking wildly about, trying to find out what this horrible, devilish construct could be. She needs answers, but she’ll need to find someone first. If she does, however, find someone, she’s most likely to take out her worry and confusion and suspicion on them. She’s trying to find something familiar; anything. Even just a person might be enough, if they could shake her out of this stupor and get her back to thinking properly.]
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! [The resounding yell should get something to happen, but right now she’s too worn out to see what. She plops down where she is (which is, unfortunately, the middle of the road) and tries to catch her breath. She might be standing by the time you find her, though.]
ooc: and now I'm off for today! Tags will be sometime late in the evening.