Awoken suddenly by the forbearing prod of Florence's boot, Michael immediately sat upright, seemingly in a somewhat somnolent state of confusion. He was about to reach for his hatchet before realising where he was. A slight aching pain registered in his back and shoulders, a painful parting gift from the rooftop. Michael never bothered with eating any breakfast - if you can call cold tomato soup or a chocolate bar breakfast - although he was hungry, he couldn't risk eating the last of what remained of his food supply on the chance the other group had no food with them to spare, or rather, none they would want to spare.

"Morning." he muttered sleepily to Florence while pushing himself off the ground. He bunched up the blanket and handed it back to her. Michael had little with him so he would only need to grab his hatchet, gun and bag, before waiting for Florence at the top of the fire escape. "Before we find those guys, I need to get some clothes that aren't covered in walker guts." he suggested, arms folded. "Come on, we're going shopping."