Who: Jack and [Open to Multiples] Where: The Kitchen When: Late morning
Jack wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been in the kitchen so far, the horrible smell of smoke staining the air even though every window was open. The gray running pants and sky blue t-shirt he'd been wearing were stained black to the point where the colors they once were no longer were terribly evident, his skin and hair dusted nearly as badly. For the first few hours he worked as if on autopilot, the shock that had hit him when he'd first seen the room that was his safe haven after the fire had been put out not even remotely dissipating. He was peripherally aware that a few people had come in to help him for a while, most notably Oliver who had moved the crispy remains of the table and chairs out onto the back patio before he headed off to go work on his other project. The cell, or whatever. There had also been Cecilia, and Daphne, and Juno at one point, but the movement and attempts at conversation just ended up blurring into the background.
All of the appliances that weren't salvageable, particularly the corpse of the microwave, had been unplugged and pulled outside as well. Jack thought that might have been Oliver too though he couldn't quite recall. Whoever it had been, whoever had come and gone, Jack hadn't said a word to them, only kept on working. The islands, the counters, and some of the cabinets were burned beyond repair. The wall where the microwave had once been was stain of black that almost looked like the shadow of a person as the length of it stretched up to the cabinets and down to the floor. Jack was making a point not to look at it, the only really conscious effort he recognized.
The door to the utility room was wide open as Jack piled in food, appliances, and other kitchen items that could be saved. It had started out neat and ordered enough, but as the hours stretched on the pile was beginning to look a little hazardous, even if there really wasn't much there considering everything that had actually been in the kitchen. Jack couldn't bring himself to care. He could feel his legs shake as he straightened up after depositing an only slightly burned crock pot down, stumbling slightly as he turned. Something crackled under his sneakers as he walked toward the refrigerator, and he idly thought that maybe he should sweep things up, before realizing that with the rest of the room in such bad condition it would only get fucked up again. The refrigerator was mostly untouched, though someone had pulled it away from the wall slightly, presumably to check and make sure the wiring or whatever was alright. There was a diagonal streak of char across freezer, and Jack wasn't sure if it was an actual burn, or the remnants of someone wiping a filthy, sooty hand across it. Looking at his own hand as he opened the door to grab a bottle of water, it could have been his own.
He didn't really know how he'd ended up on the floor a second later, his back to the closed refrigerator door. He could have fallen, he could have sat down of his own accord, but he didn't feel hurt. It was one of the only mostly-untouched spots available, covered in soot and the remains of whatever people had used to put out the fire, but free of harmful debris. He stretched his legs out with a grunt, his fingers resting on the cap of the water bottle without twisting it off as he surveyed the carnage from his new vantage point. The kitchen was gone. His kitchen was fucking gone. He wanted to cry, but the sting in his eyes was more from the horrendous smells still lingering than emotional pain. He also wanted to feel livid, inconsolable, infuriated, but instead he was numb. Maybe the rest would come later. Maybe They would fix the room up eventually like They had whenever else there was a problem like this. Who the fuck knew. All he knew was that it was a little nice to finally sit the hell down.