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Who: Amberlee and Megan
When: Morning, day 4
Where: Kitchen
It was day three at the hotel for Amberlee but it felt like much less. Her arrival had been marked with so much insecurity, her status some kind of wayward refugee or nomad in search of a safe resting spot for the night. Her experiences out on the streets of Detroit had not inspired hope in her situation. Nor had her condition let up, allowing her to finally have a regular days rest. After her meal and talk with the man who’d greeted her and Paige at the door, Amberlee had eventually bunked down for the night under the effects of some powerful sleeping pills. Then spent the following day in bed in the hopes some bed rest and time would be all she needed to move past the affliction. It didn’t work.
She couldn’t sleep forever. Even if it was her only respite from the constant whale that consumed her mind, she still had to abandon it to fend off the other afflictions that would consume her. An angered stomach was less fun, and only served to aid her in remembering all her past mishaps when food had eluded her. The memories themselves seemed to drive the hurt, and once they got rolling it was hard to make them stop. The kitchen would be her sanctuary, the food within a task, and focal point to center her frayed and flailing mind. So she ate, but it wasn’t quite enough. As Amberlee ate she hummed, drawing on a plethora of tunes she had heard throughout her life. Outwardly she appeared dainty, even happy as she went about her morning. It cast an odd contrast for someone settling into the end of the world. Still, it may have passed for acceptably normal had she not also been carefully stacking hundreds of glasses, one on top of the other into a pyramid, on the wide kitchen floor. By the time someone had entered to find her, the structure had grown quite large.
When: Morning, day 4
Where: Kitchen
It was day three at the hotel for Amberlee but it felt like much less. Her arrival had been marked with so much insecurity, her status some kind of wayward refugee or nomad in search of a safe resting spot for the night. Her experiences out on the streets of Detroit had not inspired hope in her situation. Nor had her condition let up, allowing her to finally have a regular days rest. After her meal and talk with the man who’d greeted her and Paige at the door, Amberlee had eventually bunked down for the night under the effects of some powerful sleeping pills. Then spent the following day in bed in the hopes some bed rest and time would be all she needed to move past the affliction. It didn’t work.
She couldn’t sleep forever. Even if it was her only respite from the constant whale that consumed her mind, she still had to abandon it to fend off the other afflictions that would consume her. An angered stomach was less fun, and only served to aid her in remembering all her past mishaps when food had eluded her. The memories themselves seemed to drive the hurt, and once they got rolling it was hard to make them stop. The kitchen would be her sanctuary, the food within a task, and focal point to center her frayed and flailing mind. So she ate, but it wasn’t quite enough. As Amberlee ate she hummed, drawing on a plethora of tunes she had heard throughout her life. Outwardly she appeared dainty, even happy as she went about her morning. It cast an odd contrast for someone settling into the end of the world. Still, it may have passed for acceptably normal had she not also been carefully stacking hundreds of glasses, one on top of the other into a pyramid, on the wide kitchen floor. By the time someone had entered to find her, the structure had grown quite large.
