Pansy slowly laid the dough onto the flour-coated table and began his work. He kneaded it with his hands, pressing and stretching the damp dough with the heel of his hand before folding it over and flipping it over, sprinkling some flour on top and beginning the process again. It was monotonous but not in a way that bored him. It relaxed him. Along with spending time with his plants, kneading bread was one of the only times he could be alone with his thoughts. In the back room of the bakery, where he was alone for hours at a time with just a bowel of dough and an oven, was where he was probably happiest. The dough flipped for the third time and now that he was satisfied, he carefully placed the floury dough on a peel. Being careful not to drop the bread, he tucked it neatly into the third row of the oven. 

He rubbed his hands on a spare cloth, removing the flour and excess dough and carefully looking around the small room that he spent most of his days working. A wooden work table lined the longest wall, covered in flour and pieces of loose dough. The floor was paved in tiles, which made most messes easy to clean. The walls above his work table were lined with pots, pans and almost every kind of cooking utensil you could think of. Behind him was a blank wall, it's only feature a wooden door that lead out into the main shop. Ovens covered the remaining wall and due to the constant baking that went on within them, it was always rather stuffy. It was because of the heat that he left the window opposite the ovens ajar and rolled his sleeves up completely. A cool breeze wafted into the room, bringing with it the sounds of the town.

Except, there were no sounds.

Pansy frowned. He was used to the sound of the town winding down towards the end of the day but he was not used to the deafening sound of silence that had befallen the town. He dropped the cloth onto the work table and strode across to the window. He pulled it open with a slight grunt and stuck his head out of it. He was immediately hit by the mild temperature, that was a cool shock to a face that had sweated in a hot baker for several hours. The street outside his window was completely devoid of all life. Not a sound echoed down the street. Where were the cheeky children who shouted through the window, asking for scraps? Where were the housewives of Krukow who strolled up and down the street, gossiping about politics? Or the workmen, who seemed to have no difference to their inside and outside voices?

He grunted in confusion and slammed the window shut behind him. "Hey, Carmena!" he called from the window. From the other side of the door, he heard a shuffling and the door swung open. It was his boss, an older woman known only as Carmena. She handled the business side of the bakery but was still covered in flour and wore an apron. Her salt-and-pepper hair was tied in a tight bun with a hairnet placed tightly above it all. Her skin was a creamy-brown colour, a colour that almost matched her eyes. She was a kindly woman who had employed Pansy for almost 10 years now and he had grown to become a good friend to her.

She looked at him expectantly. "Is there something going on?" he asked, gesturing towards the window. "Oh...I don't know, Panny" she said, confused. Panny was a nickname she had developed for him over the years ("I'm not calling you Pansy!") and as far as he knew, she was the only one who used it. She walked up the window, cracked it open and peered out. "Hm" was her only response. Her brow furrowed as she held her ear outside.

"Tell you what, Panny. I've got a few deliveries to make but if you'd like, you can do them for me, get some fresh air and maybe try to find out what's going on. Staying in that small room all day isn't healthy!" she smiled. "Okay" he nodded as she led him out to shop. It was rather bare. Behind the counter sat rows of bread and a set of two doors, one of which lead to Carmena's living quarters and the other to the baking room. Apart from the bread on display and the counter, it was an empty shop. Recent events had hit the local economy hard and her shop was no exception. "Here" she shoved a basket of bread into his hands. "Take them to the Simmon's household. And find out what's going on!" With a quick nod, Pansy headed out the door, which tinkled as he opened and closed it.

He was in the streets now. And the streets were empty.