[color=00aeef]FRIEDA RICHTER[/color] - Brandy's house -- mid-afternoon

The shelves had been straightened, their melange of boxes and items returned upon their shelves, and the majority of the feed had been swept, scooped, and tossed back into the container in which it had been stored.  Frieda straightened and groaned, feeling muscle ache in her neck, shoulders, lower back...legs...

"Damn," she muttered, wondering if there was some part of her that wasn't screaming in pain.  The Study Buddy was keeping her mind alert but certainly wasn't meant to keep her body from fatiguing.  [i]I better take it easy before I wear myself out by accident.[/i]

She looked down at the remaining mess.  One substantial pile remained and a smattering of scattered seed.  Frieda clamped her teeth shut and attempted to steel her resolve.  "Just scoop that pile up and you're done.  It's not like a scattering of feed is going to be that much more harmful."  One of the chicks lifted its head from the little nest they had made and peeped at her.  Frieda looked at it.  "What?"

Ten minutes later, she was closing the door to the basement, letting out a long sigh.  Frieda looked between the fridge and Brandy's cupboards, remembering her promise to bring the good doc some food.  Her stomach rumbled in response.  She closed her eyes, her arms and shoulders suddenly so tired, she felt like she could hardly lift them.  She opened her eyes and looked down at her dusty, dirty, sweaty clothing, and imagined her body resembled much the same.

[i]I'll have a shower, freshen up, and maybe that will help me perk up, too.[/i]  Frieda pushed herself off the door to the basement with much effort and made her way up the stairs.  [i]Bless Brandy and her hot water heater.[/i]  She peeled off her clothing and left them in a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor and ran the shower.

She re-emerged from the house some time later, hair and skin squeaky clean if the clothing she dug from the bottom of her bag wasn't.  A baggy, faded blue t-shirt over some jeans and her sneakers was the best she could muster.  The shirt had belonged to her brother; she was practically swimming in it.  It was the cleanest thing she carried, though, and the thought of climbing back into sweaty, or bloody, or dirty clothing squicked her right out.  Frieda made a beeline for the diner -- she tore through the cupboards at Brandy's but found a number of things that required preparation...and, well, skill.  She watched Rick push a load of broken glass onto the road, below, stepped over him, and walked into the diner.

"Uh, hey, are you open?" she asked Betty.  The younger woman threw her broom into a corner, dusted off her hands, and put them onto her hips.

"I mean it's not like a deathclaw pretty much came in here and tossed the place -- but sure, let me drop everything and get you something to eat!"

Frieda rubbed her brow, confused by the placement of Betty's sarcasm.  "Can I get some food to go?"

"Can ya be more specific?"

"I don't know -- just a bagged lunch or something."  Frieda drummed her fingers on the countertop, growing impatient.  "Anything."

Ten minutes later she re-emerged from the diner with a couple sandwiches and mutfruit cocktails.  She assessed the patients in the clinic, and from what she could tell, things were stable.  The mutant was still hovering around, which made her feel unsettled,  She gave him a wide berth and approached Arthur, holding out one of the lunches.  "Here.  Take a break, have something to eat.  I'll keep an eye on things, here."