Phoebe's eyes blinked open, and instantly a small shot of panic coursed through her. She couldn't see anything. It was dark.

Of course it was dark. It was always dark in this new home of hers. It had been dark since the walls came up. As her heart picked up speed, she reached quickly next to the thin, tattered mattress she had been sleeping on, feeling around for her lighter and candle. Swallowing hard and fumbling a little, she managed to ignite the candle. 

Resting on her side, she stared into the flame, doing her best to control her breathing and calm herself down. Starting the day with an attack would be a great way to ruin it. The daily morning struggle; it was unpleasant, but she was getting used to it. At least, as much as she could.

Feeling better, she sat up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Falling asleep was also a struggle. She'd blow out her candle, and just squeeze her eyes shut, convincing herself it wasn't actually pitch black. It sort of worked, as long as she kept her eyes closed. And eventually, she [i]would[/i] fall asleep. She was a heavy sleeper, so once she managed that, she'd stay sleeping without trouble. Thank God for that. Having to deal with the dark multiple times a night would drive her mad.

Now, to get ready for the day. Phoebe awkwardly slipped on her bike shorts, not having much room to maneuver, and picked up her candle carefully, crawling out of her cramped tent with a small yawn. She looked around the room briefly, noting with a nervous frown that there was no one else up and about. Her roommates -- of sorts -- were all either still asleep or off somewhere else. It was quiet, and it made her feel alone.

Being alone made her anxious and uneasy. Just like her fear of the dark, it seemed so dumb and irrational, but she couldn't help how she felt. It made her wonder if there was something wrong with her.

Doing her best to push aside those thoughts, Phoebe kneeled in front of the dirty little mirror that was simply resting against the cold wall next to her tent. Pulling the bucket of reasonably clean water next to it closer to her, she looked to the piece of cardboard on the floor that held her few hygienic items: a hairbrush, a toothbrush, and a twisted up tube of toothpaste. All three nicked from the same abandoned house (and of course, the toothbrush was in its packaging when she'd taken it).

Full-body washes were few and far between, so Phoebe did her best to at least keep her hair in... well, 'acceptable' condition. She was sort of proud of it, as it reminded her of both her parents -- it had the vivid colour of her mother's hair, and the thickness of her father's. Dipping the bristles of the brush in the water, she worked at her hair, wetting it down and getting rid of knots. After several minutes, she was satisfied and sufficiently agitated by the fact that she was still alone. Hurriedly, she pulled any lost hair off the brush, tossing the small clump into a second bucket -- this one given the job of being a trashcan -- and brushed her teeth, using just a dot of toothpaste.

Hopping to her feet, Phoebe exited the room, still running her fingers through and playing with her damp hair. She was antsy today, and not just because she was alone. She hadn't been to the surface in a while, hadn't seen the sun or breathed in air that didn't smell of waste. Jacques [i]must[/i] have been about ready to go out again, too. Maybe she could find him and ask him to go together again. While he was a little scary, Phoebe had found that he wasn't [i]that[/i] bad. Once you learned to not take the things he said too seriously, at least. Also, going in a pair was safer. And she wouldn't be alone. Funny how perfectly that worked out for her.

On her way to the lounge, she spotted Ruben, and a bright smile spread across her face. 

"Good morning, Ruben!" she greeted cheerfully, pushing her hair behind her left ear and taking something of hop towards him. "How's it going?" She paused when she spotted the pants in his hands, a bit of worry creeping into her happy face. "I, um... am I going to be seeing Jacques naked again?" She pronounced the man's name a little funny, unable to say it in the same way Ruben did. While most called him 'Jack,' she didn't, for no reason in particular -- she just found 'Jacques' nicer.