[ She's been moody and quiet in her latest shift in the kitchen. Whatever novelty it had is quickly wearing off, and she's settling herself into a long routine. It's boring. It's not even safe and it's boring. But boring is okay. It means she doesn't have to think. Just work and sleep, that's all.
She lingers for a while out on the cool deck, avoiding anyone she sees, and then goes inside. A slow path back to her door, and suddenly she stops.
For a second, she doesn't even know why she stopped, why her heart jumped to her throat and started pounding. And then she realizes. Smoke. She can smell it. She spins, and spots it curling out from under a doorway. A closed doorway. Oh, no. ]
Hello? [ She knocks on the door, which is warm. Bad sign. She brushes her fingers cautiously over the doorknob - not burning-hot, just warm to the touch. She twists it, and tugs, but the door won't budge. ] Hello! Anyone in there!
Help! Help, there's a fire! [ She tugs again, but the door won't give. Looks to the hinges - there are coins in there, little copper ones, and she pulls out the knife she smuggled out from the kitchen and slips it into the crack, digging them out. The smell of smoke is sharper, now, and when the last penny falls to the ground, she goes for the handle, wrapping her jumper around her hand, and tugs the door open.
The inside is burning. Not the wildness of a brushfire, but a tight blaze, concentrated at the moment in a tipped over mattress. She coughs, puts her sleeve over her nose and mouth.
There's someone in there. She can see the feet poking out from under the mattress. ]
Help! [ She shouts this again, at the top of her lungs - and then she darts inside, half-crouched, to try to pull the mattress off of the man inside. ]
spam; CW: fire from here on out, violence, murder
She lingers for a while out on the cool deck, avoiding anyone she sees, and then goes inside. A slow path back to her door, and suddenly she stops.
For a second, she doesn't even know why she stopped, why her heart jumped to her throat and started pounding. And then she realizes. Smoke. She can smell it. She spins, and spots it curling out from under a doorway. A closed doorway. Oh, no. ]
Hello? [ She knocks on the door, which is warm. Bad sign. She brushes her fingers cautiously over the doorknob - not burning-hot, just warm to the touch. She twists it, and tugs, but the door won't budge. ] Hello! Anyone in there!
Help! Help, there's a fire! [ She tugs again, but the door won't give. Looks to the hinges - there are coins in there, little copper ones, and she pulls out the knife she smuggled out from the kitchen and slips it into the crack, digging them out. The smell of smoke is sharper, now, and when the last penny falls to the ground, she goes for the handle, wrapping her jumper around her hand, and tugs the door open.
The inside is burning. Not the wildness of a brushfire, but a tight blaze, concentrated at the moment in a tipped over mattress. She coughs, puts her sleeve over her nose and mouth.
There's someone in there. She can see the feet poking out from under the mattress. ]
Help! [ She shouts this again, at the top of her lungs - and then she darts inside, half-crouched, to try to pull the mattress off of the man inside. ]