She was restless. It had all started with an innocent idea: make this space look good. To Dawn, that meant organizing the contents of the closet, cleaning up the desk area, re-shelving books, and making sure things were returned to their rightful places around the apartment, wherever that may have been.
She had started small and chose to attack the bookshelf first. Dara didn’t seem to have much rhyme or reason to the way her books were organized. It appeared that at some point, they had been shelved by genre, but over time, that loosely managed order had given way to convenience. Many of them seemed to be textbooks, so she started with those, working her way through Dara’s academic career before diving into her fiction and poetry collection. She made mental notes of books that might be of interest to her: Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler, The Hours Count by Jillian Cantor, The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley, all while trying not to roll her eyes at the Sophie Kinsellas and Jane Greens of her counterpart’s collection.
With the bookshelf done, at least for now, she moved towards Dara’s desk and examined the workspace closely. She scrunched up her nose when she realized that the desk was nothing more than a glorified card table, one of those Ikea choose-your-own-desk-and-legs configurations that had probably survived several moves and apartments. Holding only a laptop, a lamp, some writing utensils, and stacks of papers to grade, she made sure that everything was in order and returned all of the pens and markers to their respective containers. She eyed the bulletin board that lived above the desk, its contents scattered across the board in a haphazard fashion. Dawn wondered if that was by design and frowned at the photos of Dara and her friends, wondering if the other girl had ever heard of picture frames and made a mental note to pick up a few of them the next time she ventured out of the apartment.
She looked around the room to checked out the progress she had made so far, frowning when she realized that it barely looked like she had done anything. The bed was already neatly made from earlier that morning, though she thought that it could use a few accent pillows and a throw blanket. She added that to the shopping list she was keeping in her head, only to realize that it was getting quite long and that she should probably commit her ideas to paper. A few minutes later, she had an index card with a running list of things to pick up from the store later on. Next up, and what would inarguably the most time-consuming: Dara’s closet. She opened the closet door and sighed at the hangers that were askew, eager to jump in and get to work.
There was very little that made sense to her at the moment. Why was she here? Why had she suddenly been injected into Dara’s life? If she was here, then would it make sense to assume that she also had other friends around, that maybe some Titans were nearby, trying to make sense of all of this? What had happened to her powers and why couldn’t she use them? She had so many questions, no answers, and despite knowing that other people were going through the same thing, she was terrified of just the thought of talking to anyone about any of this. What if they thought she was crazy? Dawn chose to keep a low profile, avoiding people as much as she could in hopes that she wouldn’t draw much attention to herself, but keeping herself busy and occupied without leaving the house was proving to be difficult. And so, she organized.