[ Daisy Johnson wakes with a groan, her head aching and the foulest taste in her mouth that she can remember. The bottle of unidentifiable but clearly homemade alcohol she'd imbibed the night before had certainly seemed like a good idea at the time, numbing everything enough for her to sleep without being haunted by the nightmares of her past. A miracle she's now paying for.

Lifting a leaden hand to rub at her face, she freezes at the sensation, finally opening her eyes to look at her hand and— ]

What the hell...

[ The confusion only increases as she discovers the dust covering her covers everything in the bedroom, from the floor to the dresser, the bedding to the clothes she'd tossed in the direction of the hamper. And on the subject of clothes, what the hell is she wearing? It takes a few moments for the memory of Baneberry Hall to return to her, everything processing more slowly because of her hangover, but then she's launching herself out of the bed with instant regret. Being vertical is hard.

After a phonecall that does little to ease the irritation she feels toward this whole stupid town, a shower at least takes care of the dust covering her. It helps a bit with the hangover too, though it's the water and coffee that does the most good. She finds one of those plastic travel mugs in the cupboard that she fills with the caffeinated nectar of the gods before heading out to hopefully get some answers.

She sticks to the streets, wandering down Stoker Park and then up Phillips Drive to the center of town, borrowed boots thudding on the pavement as she circles the square before heading north on James Place. There might not be many others trapped in this frustrating town, but she'll talk to anyone she comes across in the hope of getting even the smallest bit of new information. ]

[ It's been a few days since she started staying at the house she's having trouble thinking of as hers and she still has trouble feeling comfortable there. The quiet is unsettling and almost oppressive, and she hates that she can't feel any other living beings around. The only vibrations she can sense are from the house and all the objects within, just white noise at the distant edge of her senses that do nothing to alieve the feeling of being completely and utterly alone. Combined with the memory of her own death in the vast blackness of space and...

It's not great.

But at least the place used to be clean. Whatever happened in the night, the entire house is dusty and grimy now, as if somehow years have passed. It's not fit for living in but she doesn't really want to find anywhere else to stay, so elbow grease it is. She's filthy before long, her jeans and flannel shirt caked in filth, but it gives her something to do that isn't just sitting and wallowing in her own despair. It's not much but she'll take it. ]