Morning becomes eccentric.
It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t fair. Sharing the same house with someone who operated in a different time zone was every colour of unfairness.
“Good morning, good mor-ning,” she sang. “You’ve worked the whole night through, good morning, good morning to you.”
And it was really unfair that he loved her beyond all reason. Because mornings made him grumpy.
He was a night-owl. She was a morning person. In the handful of hours when their schedules synced up, they synergised spectacularly and the world was a wonderful place.
It was the remaining eighteen that tended to suck.
“Good morning, good mor-ning, wake up, you sleepy head! Good morning, good morning–”
“Drop dead,” he growled, trying to dig himself further under the covers and wish the world away.
“Sorry, dear, but there’s a dead body on the corner of Fifth and Twenty-second that needs both our adorable attentions.”
“I’m not adorable, go away.”
“I bought the good coffee…”
Carlos Daye dragged himself back from the dead to appreciate the aroma. He scalded his tongue on it, but god, he needed the caffeine. “…brains…” he half-joked.
“Sorry, all we have is bacon and eggs. Alternately, there’s eggs and bacon.” Sylvia Knight was a vision in neat and stylish clothes. Hair done, face polished, and bearing the meal in question.
The second swallow of scalding-hot good coffee bought him further around. Or at least gave him enough cognition to operate a fork. “Any reason why they need both of us?”
“Descedant looks like they’ve been turned inside-out.”
“Ah. Right.” He was not much for words at just past dawn. “That’d do it.”
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