WHO: Buffy Meissonier and OPEN WHAT: Writing. In public. Or trying to. WHEN: Monday morning WHERE: Starbucks WARNINGS: Talk of Zombies STATUS: Open/Ongoing
Buffy sat in the coffee shop with her laptop, trying to concentrate enough on the words to actually write something. It wasn't going well. Every time someone entered the shop behind her, her eyes darted over to them, and her fight-or-flight reflex kicked in, which wasn't particularly helpful when one was trying to write a smouldering sex scene. But Random liked doing things in public, liked being around people, and Buffy liked being around Random. So she was trying, in her own little ways, to make herself more comfortable with being out.
And it wasn't going particularly well.
Survival instincts simply weren't that easy to cast aside, and despite putting everything she had into being out here, she simply couldn't ignore the fact that she was about to be eaten at every moment. Even if there weren't zombies in here, there weren't any blood tests, so anyone could be infected, and who was to say when someone might spontaneously amplify and cause an outbreak, and in this town, so small and with no way out, that would be absolutely disastrous on so many levels, and Holy god, she didn't want to die twice -
Someone bumped into her from behind, and the high pitched shriek that escaped her lips was more than a little embarrassing. She swung around with a fork in her hand, as if she were trying to use it as a weapon, her cheeks reddening as she saw a perfectly normal person behind her.