She'd spent the previous day hiding in the alley way she'd found herself in, taking turns between having bouts of panic and mourning. She hadn't returned home for anything. At some point, she'd fallen asleep, but she hadn't really been aware of it. Honestly, it felt as if she'd been awake for days. She felt like a corpse; speaking of which, she could feel so many. They were in the building at her back and the one across the alleyway. They were in the streets. She was wearing a simple black t-shirt with a Deadpool symbol on the front and jeans, something she'd just thrown on to lounge around in so she wouldn't be in her pajamas the day before.

When she started into the streets, it was so quiet that she felt everyone had to have been killed. She felt like a wraith wandering down the streets, even among other people. Some were talking, but many were just reflecting what she felt, this silent realization that the surreal was their reality, carnage had come into their lives, and the prior day wasn't their end like it was for so many others. She knew better than they did perhaps, because she had this... sense of them, like they were doors waiting to be opened, senses waiting to be tapped into.

People were keeping a wide berth of the cadavers, and she flowed with them. She'd always found the accents of native people charming, for the most part, but now every foreign voice just made her feel that much more isolated. In a single night, the place she'd made into her home had become just another thing that was no longer familiar. The streets that she'd learned to recognize were transformed and sinister. It felt as if something terrible might be waiting to happen again, like the thin barrier between the peaceful passing of those moving through the city today to the atrocities that had rocked it yesterday might be pierced at any time.

She'd often wondered how people could stomach going about day-to-day survival when something this crushing happened, and it occurred to her that she was living it. This wasn't something she saw in the headlines in passing and felt sad for the people in a sympathetic but detached way. She was in the middle of it, and she felt nothing for the moment. She felt tense, but she had made it a stretch beyond terror and came to something else, something where there were no emotions, like her mind wanted to wait and save its energy to produce some more when something happened.

She saw soldiers, and they made her nervous. Surely they would put her down after what those others had done yesterday. It put her even more on edge to see them, like they could somehow sense that she was guilty of... well, technically her only real crime would have been abuse of a corpse, but she only used it for self-defense. She didn't know what they'd be doing, but every piece of media she'd ever consumed about the dissection of aliens came to mind. One of the soldiers glanced her way and she quickly looked down. Too quickly. Now she looked suspicious... fuck.

She heard a lady's scream pierce the silence, with calls of, “He moved!” One of the bodies had jerked as she'd lost herself to her fearful thoughts, and her alarm sent another spasm of energy through it. Some people scattered and a few of the soldiers began making their way over. She walked more quickly away from it. She was surprised to see a bar open as she turned the corner, and she hurried toward it, ducking inside quickly and pressing the door closed. A long breath later, she turned to see... a medieval tavern-themed bar. She hadn't really taken in the facade of the building, but there were people here. Living people. It looked like...normalcy. Well, normalcy in a bizarre setting.

It was strange but, in the setting, she felt at ease again... as if closing that door had shut out the soldiers, the world, and she had some divine permission to just experience a moment of ease. And she really, really wanted to.

She ran her hand through her short hair, narrowing her eyes when she found something that felt like a dry crust and felt pain. She pulled her hand back to find some dried flecks of blood that she'd gotten from her head. That's right... she'd been hit, hadn't she? She'd really almost forgotten in her... well, ruminating. That's what it was called: ruminating. She felt like she'd been marinating in fear and grief and self-pity. She'd make someone a quaint little misery roast, wouldn't she? Why did that thought even occur to her? Latent cannibalistic leanings? God she hoped there were no telepaths in the room, and when that occurred to her, she also inadvertently began thinking of all the things she wouldn't want one to know about her. Great, now she felt ashamed and apologetic on top of it.

She approached the bar, quietly drawling out, [b]“Excuse me, do ya'll got a first aid kit?”[/b] Her accent came out a lot... twangy-er than she was expecting, but she didn't even try to keep it from hanging out like Bubba's beer gut. Sounding like a hick was really the last thing she was worried about right now.