Magdelene Defoe (i_wasblind) wrote in reality_crisis, @ 2013-01-19 20:05:00 |
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Current mood: | thoughtful |
Entry tags: | !status: complete, carlos ramirez, magdelene defoe |
Getting back into the swing of things....(Carlos)
There seemed to have been some sort of crisis, something that Mag didn't entirely understand. Walking dead? She knew what the concept entailed, the dead rising from where they had been laying to once more walk the Earth. It sounded like something out of a story, but then she recalled that when she first arrived at this strange place, the guards here had explained to her that she herself was fictional. So, she figured that anything could be possible. The fact that she was fiction had been a hard thing to swallow, and Mag still wasn't sure if she believed that entirely, but why would someone lie about that? Who would want to make a movie of her life? Much less watch something so dark and tragic? She certainly wouldn't want to watch something like that, especially not about the world she came from. Who could ever find that interesting? She pushed the thought from her mind instantly, and decided that the time was right to finally leave her apartment, the place she had been staying as the mayhem from the 'zombie' attack settled. That is what the citizens had been calling the monsters, zombies. What a strange name.
It had kept Mag from her daily rounds of the city, and she hoped that during the event nobody had gotten hurt. She tried desperately to stay out of situations like that, considering she wasn't going to be any good to anyone in the event of a catastrophe, and so staying where she was safe seemed like the most practical of things to do. She stayed in. It gave her a chance, as well, to do some cleaning, which proved to be both challenging and relaxing.
Finally, Mag had left her apartment, descending the stairs slowly in her heels, listening to the sound echo against the walls as she moved, finally reaching the bottom level. She pushed open the door, and stepped into the foyer, pulling her jacket tighter around her frame before heading out into the snowy evening. She hadn't forgotten her friends, and hoped that they all were well, and that they all were outside too so she might see them. She didn't have many friends, really, but she considered the few she had as such and she cherished them. She wondered what they had been up to, if they had seen the zombie creatures, and what had become of the creatures all together. That sure was a curious subject.
Slowly, Mag made her way through the city, arriving at the small cafe she had met Maurice at, not seeing the old man there in his usual spot in the bean bag near the fire, but she opted to wait for him, hoping he would show. She wanted to tell him that she had been to see Rosie again, and she knew that he would appreciate hearing the story. Much as she had appreciated him telling her about himself and his late wife in the first place.
She crept over to the small coffee table which had the vacant bean bag settled lop-sidedly next to it, before sitting in a small wooden chair on the opposite side, where she had sat many times before, grateful for the warmth of the fire, despite the open mouth of the cafe itself. It was comforting, the warmth, and she was glad that she had decided to venture back out into the city, and had been unaffected by the recent outbreak of walking dead. She hoped that others had been as fortunate as she, trying to stay positive.