Who: Mary Ellen and Open (or narrative) What: Feels Where: Main room of the cottage bunker When: Wednesday morning Status: Open/Ongoing Rating: Feels? possible talk of death
Mary Ellen was quiet. She was sitting on a couch in the corner of the main living area, one carefully chosen so she could see the door and as much of the room as possible, but was a bit out of the way too. She was watching, her eyes red and bloodshot, sunken and tired looking with tears that looked liked they'd spill over any minute but never did. She'd made Stevie bring her out there, made him stay too. She needed to see them, as many of them as she could at least. But she wasn't talking, a full plate of food sat in front of her where Stevie had left it, she wasn't there for any of that, only to watch.
She was numb. She'd broken down the night before and her body didn't want to wake up. Waking up meant dealing with it, accepting it, and she didn't want to do that yet. So she just sat, her knees up against her chest, her eyes flitting back and forth between all of the ones she considered family.