James had slipped out of the wine shop that morning, before anyone could chastise her about wandering the city alone. Anyone besides Meg, who seemed to be on a constant stage of disapproval. The girl's voice felt extremely loud and sharp as it rattled between James' ears, but that might have just been the exhaustion. Her rest had been fitful over the past days, and James was beginning to come to terms with the fact that she might have been the only one from her tale here. The others at the wine shop seemed to be missing people as well, and that gave James some hope. Maybe they were the only ones transported here. Or maybe she'd just slipped off of the stage in her lucite heels and was in a coma. Although surely her imagination, even comatose, was a little too stunted for this degree of realism.
With Meg's occasionally helpful assistance in translation, James approached an elderly woman with a well bucket of water, and drank enough to at least stave off dehydration. She tried not to think about food, which was fairly easy as she walked further into the city. Everything was dirt and chaos, the last thing on her mind was a sandwich. Aside from being away from the hospital, she could have been any local nurse. Her white linen dress and apron seemed strangely out of place in the blood caked streets.