[ Grace has made herself as useful as she possibly can since she first came here. She's moved bodies, sorted clothes, and helped with the preservation and cooking of food where possible. They're all things she knows how to do, and things she'll do without complaining – without even speaking, if necessary. It would be difficult to miss her entirely, but she's very good at blending in when needs must, keeping her head down.
She's stubbornly clinging to the clothes she came with, too. A long grey dress of roughish fabric, with a neat white collar and apron, and a white cap covering her auburn hair. Even her shoes – a pair of simple, fairly sturdy boots, though definitely not hiking gear by any means – are the ones she's worn since she first arrived. The most she's acquiesced to modern clothing is a tatty bit of fabric she's found and adopted as a shawl, which she keeps wrapped tight about her shoulders, and a pair of gloves, though they certainly aren't the delicate white gloves she's coveted since she was a young girl: instead they're chunky and black, much too big for her hands, but blessedly warm.
When she's not contributing where she can, she finds a spot in a quiet corner and takes out her supplies: a small needlework kit and a sheaf of fabrics that she's painstakingly stitched together. Anyone would be able to tell that the piece came with her already half-finished, since they've not been here for long enough to explain the size of it. It's enough to be a child's blanket already, an autumn-toned patchwork quilt. ]
pre-event — open.
She's stubbornly clinging to the clothes she came with, too. A long grey dress of roughish fabric, with a neat white collar and apron, and a white cap covering her auburn hair. Even her shoes – a pair of simple, fairly sturdy boots, though definitely not hiking gear by any means – are the ones she's worn since she first arrived. The most she's acquiesced to modern clothing is a tatty bit of fabric she's found and adopted as a shawl, which she keeps wrapped tight about her shoulders, and a pair of gloves, though they certainly aren't the delicate white gloves she's coveted since she was a young girl: instead they're chunky and black, much too big for her hands, but blessedly warm.
When she's not contributing where she can, she finds a spot in a quiet corner and takes out her supplies: a small needlework kit and a sheaf of fabrics that she's painstakingly stitched together. Anyone would be able to tell that the piece came with her already half-finished, since they've not been here for long enough to explain the size of it. It's enough to be a child's blanket already, an autumn-toned patchwork quilt. ]