EVIE
like love is a bad word
It's both painful and relieving to see recognition in Wessex's face. She doesn't have an explanation for her own disappearance, certainly none suitable for the iron-fisted beauty. Cowardice, fear, upheaval of all she has ever known...they are insufficient, pitiful. She had not been the only one targeted by such things and yet she had fled then where others fought. In that manner, it's a relief when Wessex says nothing of her appearance - though truly it's more her nature than any kindness she may be giving Evie - and instead approves her assistance. There's no idle chatter as they make their way inside, though Evie returns the fanged smile from the dark haired woman that arrived before her. They part just as simply, like diverging rivers at a fork in the woods, and Evie breathes a sigh of relief as they call their own chores. Making her way back into whatever the Settlement called society is difficult, and after so long alone she is rusty and unsure of her own charms.
Staying on the ground floor she hunts through the derelict cabinets and hallways, pulling out dust covered items she believes will be of use even as she makes a face at the cobwebs that coat her palms. Eugh. Though she finds an old broom, it's senseless to sweep first, so instead she bites her tongue against her own feminine whines of self pity and begins dragging loose boards and debris from the main living areas to the outside. At least she didn't have to worry about sunlight or dragging things up or down stairs like the other women. They, at least, had the proper attributes for such heavy lifting. Or so she tells herself.
Evie finds a broom on the main floor and begins hauling debris outside!
