[ it's not the best sound to wake up to. the murmur of a voice that puts exactly into words the things she thinks about whenever she has a spare moment, the thoughts that creep in unwelcome through the back door of her mind. why does anyone keep trying? why does she? the world was so full of awful things before the darkspawn, maybe it's time to give it up and let everything crumble the way it should, the way it deserves to.

her parents would be so disappointed if they knew she thought like that, sometimes. she can imagine her father's expression too clearly. from time to time it is very difficult to say that there's anything other than their memory that keeps her going.

a familiar, smooth tongue is licking at her hand when she wakes. oskar whines, plaintively, before rumbling happily when he sees her eyes flicker open. she instinctively shushes his cheerful, enthused barking, petting him between the ears as she blearily gathers her bearings. this... is not the camp. for one thing, she is on what seems to be an actual bed, as strangely constructed as it is, and not her sleeping mat, and around her is very definitely a room rather than a tent. one full of people and trinkets of all sorts with which she is note even remotely familiar. she shifts to sit, and something presses into her leg, beneath the bed sheets — a key? not like any key she's ever seen, but recognisable enough. what it belongs to, she doesn't know.

she doesn't linger in the room for too long, quietly calling oskar to follow her as slips out, away from all these strangers, only to find more in the corridors. she is pleased enough to find that she still has some of her belongings, her clothing, and of course oskar, along with this odd little vial of what is supposedly poison. something else she's familiar with, at the very least. she pockets it, operating on the very sharp sensation that she's going to need it, at some point or other.

everyone here is dressed so strangely, so differently. everywhere fliss turns, she finds more rooms, more corridors, and navigating is proving difficult. everything looks the same. to passing individuals, her expression may seem a little blank, but bordering on terrified. running on fumes, on the idea that movement is somehow survival. she keeps pinching her wrist, every so often, trying to rouse herself from this uncomfortable dream that is proving itself to be far too real.

eventually, she finds herself fingering the key and inspecting it at greater length, wondering what it could possibly belong to. she stops in front of an unmarked door, looking between it and the key in her hands several times, wondering whether to try and find out where the silly little thing belongs to. nothing else remotely productive or useful seems to be on the agenda right now, in any case. ]

[ the absence of her knives had unnerved fliss somewhat, particularly when she had found the sign. she doesn't know what guns are, but supposes that gunshots are related to them. and what exactly are they? her explorations of this area have no yet yielded that much information, aside from the general sense that something bad is happening. the walls here are very much made to keep things out, it seems.

the weapons shed, however, is a comforting find, even if fliss finds herself awkwardly hovering outside it for a long moment, glancing around and wondering if anyone would object to her entering. at long last, when the coast seems relatively clear, she hazards a little push of the door, which opens without complaint or difficulty. though she does not directly recognise much of what she finds inside — scarily well stocked, by her personal evaluation — as soon as she spots the distinctly knife shaped weapons that could substitute for her daggers, she feels a faint swelling of warmth. when did she get this way, she wonders? relieved by the sight of weapons rather than cowed by them, exasperated at having to use them once again. biting her lip, she resists the urge to investigate up close, and darts back out of the shed to hail down the first person she sees. ]

Excuse me — sorry to trouble you, but is it known whether we can take items from this shed? [ a little timid, to begin with, but growing a little bolder as she goes on. ] I don't wish to seem as though I'm trying to steal anything, but the contents would likely be useful.

[ ... she's going to take something, even if someone tells her no. that much isn't quite audible in her tone, but damn it, she's not going to wander around this strange place empty handed. oskar, meanwhile, sits like a sentry outside the shed, relatively quiet. subject to change if anyone challenges his mistress, though. ]