More than anything

As far as Darrow antics go, this one might top the list for bloody eeriness. At the cottage, they can almost pretend nothing's happened. Between the garden, the chickens, and the staples she always keeps well-stocked, there's no immediate threat of starvation. The power hasn't failed yet, but even if it does, she thinks they'll be able to work around it — neither she nor Anne are exactly accustomed to being without it anymore, but that doesn't mean they've forgotten how to get by.

And surely things will go back to normal sooner or later. They always do, and she refuses to believe that—that whatever this is might be special in that regard.

But it's still unsettling. Even though it only seems to be the locals who have vanished, there were always far more of them than anyone else, and never has she felt the difference so keenly. Whole blocks are abandoned, shops either permanently shuttered or, more often, left unmanned mid-shift: the lights still on, but no one at home. But what she hates most are the littler signs of lives abruptly interrupted. A lone briefcase sitting at a bus stop; half-drunk beverages glued to their coasters by dried condensation; shopping carts left idle halfway down an aisle.

Regan is taking it especially hard, and no wonder.

It would be easier to avoid town entirely, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't tempted. But she can't abide the thought of hiding out in the countryside when there are still plenty of people who need help. Not when her hands still remember how to feed a Village.

So she's stolen a bakery. Or, well... borrowed. She's borrowing a bakery.

It hadn't been hard to find. Even cleaning it up hadn't been too much of a challenge: people had already made off with the displays' contents, so there was little rotten food to be dealt with. Obviously there were no fresh ingredients worth salvaging, but things like flour, baking soda, and spices don't go bad overnight. There's plenty to start with, at least.

Getting the word out had been the bigger challenge. She's texted everyone she can, and Saoirse has made some very colorful signage to post in the bakery windows and in other places around the city, letting people know that there are fresh-baked goods available. She can't imagine charging for any of it, but after the first few hours (and some discussion with Anne), she'd added some signage suggesting that she wouldn't question where any raw ingredients might have come from, if people wanted to bring some.

It's mid-afternoon when she slides two more trays of muffins into the oven, sets a timer on her phone, and then steps out of the kitchen for some slightly cooler air. Her hair is falling out of its bun and she's probably a mess, but it's satisfying to see people eating something she made: something fresh and good that hasn't come from a bloody can.

[ooc: a mini-gathering for the vanishing NPC plot! If your pup knows Greta, you can assume they've received a text; otherwise, there's plenty of signage letting people know there's still one functioning bakery in town.]

It takes a few visits before Greta starts to suspect that something is a bit, well... off.

Regan has spent several afternoons doing homework at the cottage, ostensibly because it's more peaceful. Greta had briefly doubted that explanation on the grounds that quiet might be found literally anywhere, from Regan's perspective, but then she'd caught herself. There are plenty of ways for a space to be busy, and she knows the Home is a crowded place these days -- and short on privacy, doubtless. Maybe, too, Regan simply wanted to be somewhere a bit more, well, homey. It's hard to match the atmosphere created by a fire in the hearth and a few shaggy dogs on the floor, and all the tea and snacks you could ask for.

But Greta still has a hard time shaking the conviction that there's something else at work. That Regan's smile is a little too eager and her eye contact too brief. That there's something unbalanced between the effort she makes to be here and how deliberately casual she is once she's arrived.

It is entirely possible that she's simply being a teenager. But given her wealth of options when it comes to studying -- cafés, libraries, coffeeshops -- Greta can't help but wonder how much her resemblance to Regan's mother is playing into all this. They've never really talked about it, beyond that initial, jarring pronouncement (and her subsequent pet over Thomas). She doesn't really know what Regan thinks of it all.

The girl is currently bent over her homework, so Greta has to drum her fingers on the table to get her attention. "Everything okay?" she signs, the furrow between her brows suggesting that she doesn't mean it in a casual, would-you-like-more-tea sense.