[ Adaline wakes up slowly with the scent of vanilla, almond and parchment teasing at her senses. Her limbs feel heavy as lead, as if a hundred years of exhaustion has settled into her bones overnight. Unable to move properly right away, she stays there as she lets her the grogginess fade and her consciousness slowly come back into focus. Logic dictates she's fallen asleep at work again, lost in the 70,000 cubic feet of original records, books and news reels that the National Archives boasts. It wouldn't be the first time.
She yawns, jaw crackingly so as she pushes herself to sit up, her name badge still hanging loosely around her neck (still at work, then), proudly proclaiming her name as Jennifer Larson. It clicks gently against her belt, and Adaline looks down, taking it between her fingers and tapping the plastic with a soft snort before stretching, wincing as her bones crack down the length of her spine.
Just because you're ageless doesn't mean you don't ache like a 107 year old, she thinks off-handedly. Everything aches right now, like she's been in this position all night as opposed to a few hours. Normally, one of her coworkers will gently shake her awake and tease her for her inability to keep track of time. Poor Reese, she thinks as she finally stands and rubs her eyes, humming quietly under her breath as bones pop back into place after sleeping so long in a chair. He must be starving.
It's only once she's aware of her surroundings, once she clears the sleep from her eyes and takes a good look around that she realizes this is decidedly not the Archives. Her brow pinches between her eyes as panic flutters, but Adaline stays calm, composed. She's in a library, that much is clear, and danger does not seem to be imminent, but the threat is always there, as it seems to be no matter where Adaline Bowman goes.
A strange weight in her pocket merits a check, and it's not her cell, but a strange little device that looks as if it could be some sort of device. Which, of course, warrants further investigation and examination. ]
[ She's quiet, voice tentative. She's comfortable at least, surrounded by books, one leg delicately crossed over the other as she speaks into the device, not quite knowing what else to do.
It has a record function - broadcast, whatever you have it. So, that's what she's using. ]
Is anyone there?
[ Oh God she feels literally crazy, talking into a palm pilot or whatever the hell this thing is. So crazy, she speaks it aloud. ]
I'm going mad.