Her alarm exploded to life with the morning’s jazz radio and a slender arm crawled out from under a mound of quilts. Desperate long fingers scratched at the different surfaces of the singing machine until finding the switch to flip the blasted thing off. “I don’t want to!” The mound of blankets groaned in groggy agony before it erupted with fiery red hair bursting through the sewn patterns. A young woman sat up with a messy mane of long, red locks and puffy lids that sheltered steel blue eyes. Sneezing she rolled from the up heaved comfy mountain and placed her feet upon the icy floor. Hissing in displeasure she sucks in a breath of acceptance before moving away from her bed towards the windows, whereas her doom awaited. Gripping the curtains with vehemence and spiteful determination she yanks them apart and practically screams as the morning sun attacks her droopy eyes.<br/><br/>The morning then proceeded as an Evelyn Vale morning usually does. She peels off her night-clothes, despite her open curtains, and throws them to the wooden floor in morning greeting. Hopping into her shower comes next; not too hot and not too cold so she doesn’t dry out her pale skin with shoulders speckled with sun-kissed freckles. Then she wanders her extensive closet while towel-drying her beast, her hair if you must know, and chooses her outfit for the day. Today a turtleneck black sweater, a short red plaid skirt, woolen leggings, and a pair of her favorite khaki leather boots which reached halfway up her calf. She pauses at her jewelry box and decides upon a gaudy silver chain necklace with a feather pendent, silver studded earrings, and a silver watch. Thin legs brings her back into her small bathroom where a fancy Victorian mirror reflects the awakening Journalist. Evelyn runs her fingers through her tangible hair, deciding to just leave it to its natural frizz and wave look that cascades down her shoulders. She then applies only a bit of simple eye makeup, peach lip-gloss, and some blush before snatching up her messenger bag, gray overcoat, keys, and phone by the front door where her Goldfish blubs goodbye.<br/><br/>“See you tonight Finn.” She says to the fish, tapping its glass bowl and shutting the metal door behind her. Breakfast comes from a mobile food-truck just before the subway station where she snacks on a vegetarian breakfast burrito and a sips at her chocolate milk while watching the morning commuters hustle about the city boardwalk. She orders three more burritos with a soft smile to the Truck owner whom still can’t figure out if she’s eating the Burritos or giving them to someone. Skipping down the steps of the station the ginger tosses Burritos to the first homeless people she comes upon.<br/><br/>“Have a nice day Evie!”<br/><br/>A black man says cheerfully from his cardboard hut at the base of the stairs. She flashes a wide grin before vanishing into the throng of train users. “Today should be a good day.” She says softly staring at the flashing lights of the subway train passing through the undercity. At least she thought it was going to be a good day as she strides into her Publishing building only to be ushered back out by her supervisor. “Vale! Great timing princess. Head to the Printing Shop a few blocks down and pick up my latest order of business cards and that flyer shipment for the boys over in Sales.” She blinked opening and closing her mouth in momentary shock. “But sir, you promised me that I’d be sitting in for the morning meeting about the latest drug scandal with the Mayor’s son?”<br/>“Did I?”<br/>“Yes you did John.”<br/>“Well, it’s not that important. You’re in the fluff column anyway right?”<br/>“….Y-yes I am but this was one of my chances to work with the investigative department.”<br/>“Well, next time Vale. Chop chop now, I need those cards for some clients coming in later. Oh, and get me a caramel latte on your way back too.”<br/><br/>Evelyn was then pushed back out the front swiveling doors and left standing in the cold with blaring red cheeks in anger. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder with an angry huff. The messenger bag was light and soon to be heavy with that man’s useless things. “Son of a Bitch.” She snarled walking the distance to the Print-shop which handled most their menial jobs since her building had its own printing press. She pushed the door open glancing about the bleak room before calling softly at the front desk.<br/><br/>“Hi, my name is Evelyn Vale. I’m here to pick up two orders for John Buckett from the New York Times?”<br/><br/>((Sorry I threw this together super fast. Didn't wanna keep you waiting so it's nothing special.))