( She's only sure toward the end of that process that something has changed, and she admonishes herself -- of course it has, Mia! -- as she registers as well that the man who'd mistaken her for a whore at first meeting was helping her out now and dressing her in his clothes.
She has to wonder if that's not a property of this world, and the amusement at how absurd this is, paired with the residual anger at being mistaken for a prostitute is what she holds on to in order to pull herself together. )
Go where?
( She tells herself not to look at his back, not once she realizes what she's seeing -- and yet she stares. There's a history of pain and uncertainty there, rightfully or wrongly gained.
No way to say right now, and her own question is what motivates her into motion. )
To the apartments. Come on, I'm not running around with you half naked and me covered in -- ( she swallows, grimacing, and shoots a look down the street at where the zombies had been walking. Unmoving dead cover the ground, but she can gloss over and ignore them in favor of other things.
Survival is a nice distraction. ) -- it's a nice gesture, but nothing is going to beat a proper bath, and if you'll pardon me for saying so, I'm not the only one here who can use one.
( FOcusing on the manageable details always helps. In the face of what she doesn't understand, it's powerfully grounding. She reaches out -- as it to take his wrist -- but thinks twice, gesturing instead as she takes off in his shirt, in her absurd yellow galoshes, and not giving a damn now that it's raining or misting or perhaps frogs are falling out of the sky. Mia Fey has a mission, and the undead and the horror can all wait.
Along with Maya. Her heart skips a beat, and all she can think in that moment is that Maya has to be safe. She is safe. She lives with Barnaby and Samus. If there are two safer people to be near in this place... I can't think of them. Maybe Sharpe, she decides, checking that he was with her instead of taken off like a shot, But I wouldn't want her to be where his brand of sense comes most in handy. )
no subject
She has to wonder if that's not a property of this world, and the amusement at how absurd this is, paired with the residual anger at being mistaken for a prostitute is what she holds on to in order to pull herself together. )
Go where?
( She tells herself not to look at his back, not once she realizes what she's seeing -- and yet she stares. There's a history of pain and uncertainty there, rightfully or wrongly gained.
No way to say right now, and her own question is what motivates her into motion. )
To the apartments. Come on, I'm not running around with you half naked and me covered in -- ( she swallows, grimacing, and shoots a look down the street at where the zombies had been walking. Unmoving dead cover the ground, but she can gloss over and ignore them in favor of other things.
Survival is a nice distraction. ) -- it's a nice gesture, but nothing is going to beat a proper bath, and if you'll pardon me for saying so, I'm not the only one here who can use one.
( FOcusing on the manageable details always helps. In the face of what she doesn't understand, it's powerfully grounding. She reaches out -- as it to take his wrist -- but thinks twice, gesturing instead as she takes off in his shirt, in her absurd yellow galoshes, and not giving a damn now that it's raining or misting or perhaps frogs are falling out of the sky. Mia Fey has a mission, and the undead and the horror can all wait.
Along with Maya. Her heart skips a beat, and all she can think in that moment is that Maya has to be safe. She is safe. She lives with Barnaby and Samus. If there are two safer people to be near in this place... I can't think of them. Maybe Sharpe, she decides, checking that he was with her instead of taken off like a shot, But I wouldn't want her to be where his brand of sense comes most in handy. )