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Cleaning was fine with Cerise. Cleaning was way preferable to some of the other things she could be doing and it was equal parts life affirming and ridiculous to do something as mundane as cleaning while the world around them had gone to actual hell. She was almost thankful to be doing something as simple as cleaning because it meant that she wasn't outside these hallowed halls struggling--or failing--to survive.

Zombie apocalypses really did have a way of putting everything in perspective.

It looked like Cerise had been assigned to cleaning some of the carpets in the dorm halls and common areas, which was a lot better than, say, having to clean the bathrooms. Really, she knew who she lived with, and she would happily mop and sweep and vacuum all day than spend a minute having to clean the communal commodes.

While Cerise wasn't able to locate an actual vacuum in the janitor's closet--not that she would have been likely to be able to use it anyway, what with the severe drain it would have put on their already limited amount of power--she did manage to find a carpet sweeper that wasn't in too bad of a shape. The handle was attached, at least, and it only squeaked a little when she gave it an experimental roll across the floor. She didn't have much experience with these things, but figured it was probably good enough for her purposes. Besides, she reasoned, it wasn't exactly like they could go out and get new ones.

There was a kind of catharsis in the rhythmic swish of the roller as she pushed it across the floor. The sound in the otherwise quiet halls became somewhat hypnotic, shrinking her world down to the task at hand. This, she could handle. This was simple. She didn't know if she would survive once the world outside inevitably encroached onto their safe haven, but she could certainly sweep the floor.

Was this some kind of coping mechanism, Cerise wondered? Was she just going crazy? There were probably--okay, almost definitely--more constructive, proactive things she could be doing to help their merry little band of survivors than sweeping the floors like they mattered in the long run. They would either die here or they would be rescued and have to leave anyway, and while the buildings would probably still be standing either way, she didn't think anyone but them would care about the state of their cleanliness.

Still, futility aside, it was nice to play at keeping their lives some semblance of normal. It was good to hope that after--everything, whether this was resolved or not, someone would come back here with the intention of reopening the university, of getting life back to normal again, and they wouldn't have to worry about the floors, like they mattered, like anything ******** mattered anymore--

The handle of the sweeper fell over dejectedly as Cerise let go of it, trying to wonder how her simple task had turned into such bleak and unwanted introspection. So much for normalcy, she thought to herself, but at least the floors were clean.