Re: Apple Inn[Safe Haven]
Claire awoke with a start, propelling herself half-way out of the bed she'd been placed in before she realized that she was in a bed, and not that the sheets tangled around her were grasping, pincer-like feet, that the weight on her head was a pillow and not the threatening, be-mandibled head of a monstrous centipede weighing her down.
Recalling the events of the past few hours with perfect detail -- at least, the events that occurred before she'd been knocked out -- Claire began trembling so hard that she could barely control herself. She hurried off into the small washroom attached to the bedroom, relieving her stomach of the churning nausea that erupted as everything came flooding back. She spent at least an hour standing under her shower, scrubbing the phantom sensation of massive bug from her skin, trying at first to clean out her nether regions but finding them too sore to bear much deep inspection.
When she composed herself enough that she didn't think she'd break into tears, or into a screaming fit, she took another hour to sit and think about her situation in a calm and logical manner. She was no fighter -- that much was certain. Looking at the small gun she'd brought back with her, which had apparently been retrieved and placed on her bedstand by some thoughtful medical assistant, Claire couldn't bring herself to pick it up.
If she was no fighter, then what place did this world hold for her? She was past disbelief that the end had come and gone, and that she had somehow been spared death to go through this hellish nightmare. Now she needed to find a way to cope... and not only to cope, but to be useful somehow.
Claire wrapped her bedsheet around herself, cinching it over her breasts, bringing the hem in and tucking it away to make an under-the-arm toga. What would happen if this one was dissolved away? (She hurriedly stopped herself. She wasn't going to think about that.)
Opening the door, Claire was surprised to find the overcoat that Josie had left for her hanging on the knob on the other side. Picking the old garment up, holding it to her face, she was unable to restrain herself from sobbing into the white fabric for a few minutes. God... was this all that she had left from her old life?
Instead of donning the coat, she folded it reverently and tucked it away in her room, feeling some strange sentiment for the garment, as though it were precious.
Then, double-checking that her makeshift dress wasn't going to fall about her, she began down the stairs. She needed to talk to the person in charge to get some peace of mind.
*sob sob, boo hoo, then begin towards the directors. If no other characters interrupt her, she knocks on the director's door.*