<div class="floatright">(http://i60.tinypic.com/naolh.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>Gracie Evans<br/><strong>Location/Time:</strong>Fisherman's Wharf, Store backroom, early afternoon<br/><strong>Attire:</strong>Hiking boots, jeans, flannel shirt<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>James<br/><br/><em>What really big one?</em>Gracie thought, her brow furrowing together in confusion. Then she saw a rather large silhouette rounding the corner and she had her answer. "Holy crap," the girl mouthed, stunned for a moment, before Toffee struggling a little against her grip on his collar jerked Gracie back into action. "C'mon boy, inside now.." she said soothingly, though there was a hint of urgency in her voice as she coaxed the dog into the musty smelling room. She backed herself against a wall, and got Toffee to sit by her feet, watching the man warily while he barricaded the door shut.<br/><br/>"So..." Gracie began awkwardly, after the pair were safe from the dangers outside. She regarded the strangely dressed man with her blue hued gaze, shifting her bow to her left hand while her right went behind her back, slender fingers closing around the grip of the revolver tucked under her shirt. Gracie had heard stories on the news, about how some people had started looting and turning on each other when things started to go crazy. The infected were at least, so far, predictable. People were not, and it was better to be safe than sorry.<br/><br/>"Uh- I'm Gracie."<br/><br/>