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[color=662d91][b]Location:[/b][/color] Home
[color=662d91][b]Interacting With:[/b][/color] [@mskennedy615][@The Spectre][/center]
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The house was empty when Abigail got up. She didn’t mind; her hair was a mess and she looked like a wreck...the illness had knocked a bit out of her and she found herself sleeping in more as her body recovered. She rolled onto her stomach as one hand groped by the bedside table to grab a metallic pink flip phone charging by her pillow. Abigail squinted at the square of bright light as she checked the time, snapped the phone shut and lurched upwards onto her feet.

She slammed two feet into a grubby pair of slippers and shuffled along the cold floorboards of the hallway, pausing briefly at the open doorway to another bedroom to squint inside. “You in there?” she croaked out, hardly expecting an answer. “Listen, I-...” she started, before turning away from the gloomy confines of the bedroom. “Forget it.” Abigail made her way to the landing and stomped downstairs, clicking open the front door just a little. She immediately regretted her decision as an icy draft billowed through her baggy t-shirt, and the sunlight hurt her eyes. Nevertheless, she dully noticed the lack of police car out on the driveway. With a derisive snort, Abigail shut the front door again and turned the lock with a satisfying clunk.

The house felt too big. It always felt too big to Abigail, she wondered if that feeling would subside during her stay but she couldn’t quite shake it off. It was the vast, empty quiet and the pale wallpaper, her footfalls echoing off the oak floorboards and the large open windows where she could catch glimpses of frost and pine trees. The endless wilderness of Verona was a bit off-putting first thing in the morning, and those moments she had, drowsy and isolated from society, were enough to casually remind her that she wasn’t home and wouldn’t be home for a while.Abigail sighed through her nostrils and pushed a couple of buttons on the digital radio in the kitchen.

By far the best device Abigail had seen ever, the modern radio used some sort of music streaming account on the internet to play a bunch of playlists. Within moments, Al Green’s smooth voice was echoing across the hallways. It made the house seem smaller. Abigail smiled to herself and grabbed the new of cocoa puffs, her smile widening when she noticed a cheap plastic toy sitting in her bowl. Whilst she microwaved a mug of milk, Abigail jogged back to her room to grab a jacket and her phone.

Technology was still a bit of a confusing concept to get her head around. Abigail shamelessly owned a crappy nokia flip-phone instead of something a bit more modern, and it wasn’t even a personal preference; these things were much harder to trace back. She got it as a gift, as she had with almost all her belongings. And Abigail was a little proud that she was probably the only eighteen year old who couldn’t care less for texting. In the very beginning  everything she wrote was in full sentences, which eventually settled down to the shortest possible messages - most of which were simply times and places to meet up, nothing else. Abigail clicked through her contacts as she poured hot milk into her cocoa puffs and wandered to the living room.

Ah...here we go. She selected a contact called “V”.

[color=662d91][quote]WHERE U AT[/quote][/color]

Short, simple, poetic. Abigail went back to her contacts and pressed on “Ash”.

[color=662d91][quote]BORED LETS MEET[/quote][/color]

Abigail put her phone down. She helped herself to cocoa puffs and watched the weather forecast rattling on about the big, scary superstorm everyone wouldn’t shut up about on the TV.