There was a moment while she heated the pan on the stove top that Rose debated whether she was better in a group or off on her own. It grew quickly, undoubtedly and brought a common anxiety to an always cautious heart. Lips drew thin, thumbing the pink case of her phone. It wasn't as if she ever stopped thinking.
The Michigander was always pulsing with ideas, able to conduct a compendium of experiments in her mind all at once. They were at an advantage, in a sense. A multitude of different cultures, body types, age ranges. Not that the zombies would take pity on a teenager or any young adult. She'd passed by an elementary not long ago and saw the most disturbing things...
There hadn't been any names given - she wasn't going to be the first. Countless days in the world of customer service had burnt that initial friendliness out of her. Deciding that a meal which took time wasn't the wisest, she shrugged her backpack off slender shoulders, pulled out a less favored pair of jeans and tucked the unopened bags of food retrieved from the pantry inside, "If you have room, grab food from the pantry."
Said jeans were then tied around the backpack tightly, zippers and the few external pockets of the denim bag concealed. Tongue darted over her lips, glossing them with the intent to speak... but the young woman couldn't conjure a wise thing to say. The zombie had made sure of that. Tucked behind the bar, she realized that the 'l'-shape could pin her. The thin gal moved grabbing the still hot pan from its safe handle and a few bottles of liquor.
It wouldn't do much against the zombies, but it helped her feel better than the three inch blade in her pocket. Hearing that there was a mess outside she sighed, knowing that the window in the pantry wasn't big enough for everyone to squeeze through. So out the front Rose went with a bitten, "Ridiculous."
"I don't suppose anyone has a plan?" She ventured admirably, seeing the undead mass heading to them, to the bar. Her voice was soft and elf-like, something you'd hear off of a Broadway musical or a radio show. She flipped the pan in one hand, the liquor wedged tightly between each finger. Three bottles, three shots! Two bottles were set at her feet just as the car alarm went off. The third dropped and shattered, surprised by the car alarm.
Still, she pressed on, setting pan down for a moment. She was clearly testing the waters which brewed and bubbled in that pretty little head of hers. She unzipped her pants for a moment and pulled them down, knife pulled from one of the pockets. She cut her underwear off, unscrewed the cap of the liquor and stuffed it inside. Pants were hauled up again, buttoned. Any comments from the peanut gallery were left to rest. The pan was flipped to face the approaching crowd, a bottle with a thick glass base set before it. In all her years of badminton, tennis, service was an undoubted strongpoint.
"Anyone have a light?" Let's ignite those zombies!
