Nobody wants to wake up in the hospital. Izzy is no different than most people in that respect. Coming to in the hospital bed with...chaos and a little bit of pain and the remnants of something lingering in the foggiest mess possible only adds to the unpleasantness that comes with the somehow familiar environment...and yet it isn't really. She doesn't really remember any of it, not even with a bit of concentration; the room, the nurses with those slightly off smiles...none of it is ringing a bell and it's beyond frustrating even if the young woman can't exactly explain why.

It doens't help that those same nurses give her placating smiles and brush off her concerns and questions with instructions to rest while she waits for her discharge,
which couldn't come around fast enough. Izzy isn't sure about much of anything right now, but one thing that she does know is that the hospital gown isn't flattering on anybody, no matter how shapley and attractive their body is: her's included. Plus the colors make even the healthiest of sick and injured look terrible, washing them outh. It's not something that Iz would be caught dead in if she had a choice, and she doesn't know how she knows that fact.

After what feels like forever Izzy's finally released with the tip that her things will be waiting for her at the Sheriff's Office. The petite woman can only hope that going there, picking up her things will bring back something.

Still, that leaves the trek through Wayward Pines for Izzy to think, to fixate on what she can't remember and the frustration that feeling that way causes. She doesn't even know herself right now, not really; so, she can't take much comfort in what she does know. That bodes the question of what does she know? That's the question on Izzy's mind as she works her way throurough the place in search of the Sherrif's office. As she passes people whose faces she doesn't recognize she offers a polite smile in return, still not feeling right about all of this. And even once she's picked up her things, and changed, she doesn't feel better, though she does feel a bit more like herself.

Now in her heels, leather jacket, blouse and tight leather pants with her lips painted just the right shade of red Izzy just...feels more herself. Even if she isn't sure who she is. The difference is noticable, and not just because she's now dressed, but also because she feels different, sauntering back down the street of Wayward Pines Izzy's smile is more flirtatious and natural....even if she's more focused on what's going on in her mind than the polite interactions with the faces that are just sort of blending together.

"Hi," Izzy announces herself, finally stopping to...try again. "I'm sorry, I'm a little...out of sorts, but...what's going on here with this place?" Izzy plasters on the charm, naturally, just needing some sort of answer.

[The muffins sat out on Izzy's table look more like weapons than a delicious basked treat. Tilting her head as she reaches out to try and rearrange them to make them look more appetizing the petite woman can't help the frown marring her face; baking is, apparently, not one of her fortes unless this is just a terrible fluke.

Either way the muffins look horrible and there's a lingering smell of something distinctly...well, burnt. She's pretty sure that nobody will be jumping to get any of these.]

Maybe I should market these as hockey pucks...or ornamental throwing muffin pucks instead... [She mutters to herself, knowing she can't (in good conscience) let anybody even attempt to eat these things.

At least she tried? And why does she have the feeling that she'll always try despite how badly this went? Surely she isn't always this bad in the kitchen? The Angel knows that it went badly this time, though.]