Quinn took the bag, almost in a daze as Besca's hand ran through her hair. She wasn't ready to think about last night. She wasn't ready to unpack it. So instead, she just nodded, a little vaguely. She looked around at all the different closed doors, and headed to the one next to Besca's. She opened it, staring into the small room inside.

Blink. Blink.

"[color=FFE63D]Besca? Can you...[/color]" She swallowed heavily. She needed to be brave. But she didn't [i]want[/i] to need to be.

"[color=FFE63D]...Can you not shut doors after me?[/color]"

With that said, she took the bag and slid into the room, making sure to leave the door cracked a few inches open. Then she opened up the bag. What did she want? Black sweatpants. They looked okay. She dug into the stack of shirts, pulling them out piece by piece until she found a mustard-brown t-shirt, holding it up against her in the mirror. It would fit, right? She tossed off the thin gown, replacing it in rapid time. It was a little too big for her, hanging loosely off her thin frame. The sweatpants were the same too. But otherwise, it looked okay, right?

The socks went on last. She hadn't realized her feet were cold. She didn't recognize the flag.

She shivered, reaching her hand back and poking at the plugs. They felt so [i]wrong[/i]. Foreign. They weren't supposed to be there, and she knew it. She stroked her neck, bottom to top, and hissed in a breath at the sensation. Why did this have to happen?

No. She was brave and strong. She had to be brave, and she had to be strong. Pushing the door open again—it still felt odd, like everything else today—she walked back through to the kitchen, glancing at Besca as she did. "[color=FFE63D]Do I look okay?[/color]"

Then she sat down in front of the plate of fresh, steaming food and picked up a fork. It was almost unbelievable. She was eating at a [i]table.[/i] Just like she always saw online.

The eggs were really good.