What have we here?

Who: Posy
When: Late morning
Where: The creepy attic of terror (The Vicarage)

Posy woke up to strange voices, shouting. That was a new experience, and a rather unexpected one. She immediately assumed she had woken up in the little Russian town so badly in need of her help, because that was the only explanation that made a jot of sense. How odd, that they wouldn't drive her here - that they'd just put her in a bedroom while she slept. And what a bedroom it was. She slid out of the rusty old bed onto the grimy hardwood floors and pushed past the old hospital divider that kept her from seeing the rest of the room clearly. Peered through the dusty gloom into her surroundings. It was like something from a horror film, dank, and what on earth was that on the wall? She fingered the strange sculpture with a mild disinterest - art wasn't really her thing.

The autopsy table through the corridor, however, was very much her thing. She suppressed a giggle. The table was old fashioned, but it looked like the drainage on it would still work. They hadn't been kidding when they'd said any skills she could bring to the town would be welcomed, then. She found herself wondering if there were many dead folk in the place who she'd have the pleasure of dealing with, and how they'd died if it was the case? Were these people really so cracked that they would start offing themselves? How fascinating and mysterious it all was.

They certainly sounded cracked, anyway. The words she heard drifting through the floorboards were mostly high-decibel profanities. Her head was spinning slightly with what she was hearing. She was truly in the thick of it, plunged in at the deep end just like she'd wanted, to see what had happened here. She decided to leave the children to their squabbles - she could introduce herself later, after she'd explored her attic room a little more thoroughly. She found her clothes folded and put away neatly, along with several notebooks, a collection of expensive metal pens, a tube of bright red lipstick, a large tortoiseshell hairbrush, and a packet of iron tablets. She took two of the tablets dry, smoothed the brush through her hair which she then rearranged into it's usual sleek bun, and changed out of her sleep-things into a black polo neck, pencil skirt and too-shiny black heels. Better to meet the world fully dressed than in a pair of crumpled silk pajamas, after all.

And then, with her morning ritual completed, she pondered what to do next. She heard the slamming of doors and assumed that the argument was over - she would find out what it had been about later, no doubt - but maybe it was still too soon to descend. She perched herself on the end of her bed and smiled gleefully to herself. It was finally happening - she was here and she would discover things, and it was wonderful.