[ It turns out that alarms and someone who very likely has PTSD but doesn't come from a time and society where anyone can actually name what's fucked up in your head don't mix. Furiosa rips into consciousness. She shoots her hand out to grab the table lamp next to the couch, and holds it poised above her head, ready to smack anyone with it.
There is no one in the apartment. Actually, Furiosa has no idea why the alarm is sounding. She sets the lamp back down and signals with kind of sloppy, one-handed signing: ]
no subject
There is no one in the apartment. Actually, Furiosa has no idea why the alarm is sounding. She sets the lamp back down and signals with kind of sloppy, one-handed signing: ]
Why noise?