<span style="color: #8040FF">Beep Beep Beep Beep!<br/><br/>Four every morning, Emilie's alarm would sound. Five minutes past, she would be slowly rising to a sitting position, hands rubbing her hazel eyes as her body cracked and popped with the movement. A yawn would loose, followed by a slightly-coherent yawn, and shortly thereafter her hand would be feeling out for the knob on her bedside lamp. Another two minutes would pass as her eyes adjusted to the dark before she was able to untangle herself from the silken sheets she'd fallen asleep in the night before.<br/><br/>Feet finding themselves in her slippers, she'd shuffle over to the bathroom, flipping on yet another light as she drew her perfect shower. It took the bathroom filling with steam, 104Â° water pouring from the shower head to pull a small smile to her face.<br/><br/>Her shower lasted twenty minutes on the dot, and encompassed a rigorous bathing routine. It started with the intense cleaning and conditioning of her hair; A product that changed every other day, every other month, to ensure that her hair never became complacent, keeping her lustrous Auburn locks in check. From there, shaving with a high-in-moisturizer cream, to keep her legs soft. Next came the cocoa butter body scrub to keep herself as clean as possible, making sure her perfect skin remained unblemished. Finishing with a minutes worth of icy cold water to keep her skin vigilant, she'd finish at 4:32 a.m.<br/><br/>Stepping from the shower, Emilie would pat herself dry, so as not to over dry her skin and turn on the radio. Hearing the news of the day helped keep her awake, giving her something to focus on apart from the process of getting ready, a process that was second nature to her now.<br/><br/>Opening the secret compartment in her counter's top, her make up station would rise. Nothing too extensive here, but she hated clutter on counter and table tops. "Everything has a place," was her mantra when it comes to cleaning. "Even better when that place is out of site." A simple facial moisturizer, followed by a light powdering to make her skin look dewy and fresh. Slight shadow added to her eyes to give them a bit more depth, followed by mascara and a nude lip gloss and her face was complete.<br/><br/>Hair came next, falling in waves part way down her back. Brushing it out, she'd leave it down, tossling it a bit to give it more life as it air dried. No reason to put it up and have it remain wet. That's how bacteria manifests.<br/><br/>5:04 a.m.<br/><br/>From here, it would be the task of finding something to wear. More often than not she was on her way to a ballet rehearsal, so she'd only want something simple she could take off and put back on without hassle. Simple flats, or sandals sufficed as her go-to shoe. Loose-fitting shirts, or slip-on dresses made up the majority of her daytime torso attire, while leggings and cropped shorts comprised her bottoms. A cropped jacket generally completed the ensemble before adding her ballet bag.<br/><br/>Her dressing wouldn't take long, as each article was chosen for its easy demeanor. Rather than want her day dragged down with difficult fabrics, she kept it simple. No telling what time she'd get called while out and about for added rehearsals, scene changes, and the like. It was better this way, to always be prepared.<br/><br/>Forty minutes later, Emilie was ready to leave the house. Bag slung over her shoulder (equipped with her leotard, tights, slippers, and hair essentials) and phone in hand, she was out of the house by no later than 5:44 a.m. New Orleans, being so heavily prominent in bars and liquor-serving locations, never woke up any earlier than eight, so her walks went undisturbed. This allowed her to take in the scenery...and to get drenched. Running back into her house, she snatched an umbrella off the entry way table and started back out again.<br/><br/>Along the way, fifteen minutes into her walk, she'd stop at the little corner ca-<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">What happened??</span> Emilie thought, panicked as she rushed forward, she smell of chard wood catching her attention just before she saw it. The crime scene tape, the still smoldering ashes... <br/><br/>Her world came to a standstill.<br/><br/>Her routine was interrupted.<br/><br/>She stood there, sort of gawking at the remains of her favorite cafe, feeling her heart rising to her throat as it beat wildly. Her hands started to shake, as did the umbrella within her increasingly lax hold of the handle. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead as she stood there, silently repeating her order over and over under her breath.<br/><br/>Yet, in the middle of her thoughts, someone spoke, interrupting their path, their panic. So lost in her own head, she was, that she hadn't heard the cab come up, let alone the door closing.</span><br/><br/>â€œDammit, I heard this place had the best coffee in town...There's another coffee shop up the street and I just turned off my meter if you want a lift, It looks like you're pressed for time and could use a cup, besides no one should walk in this weather.â€<br/><br/><span style="color: #8040FF">His smile was less than reassuring, but she stood there contemplating it for a moment. <span style="font-style: italic">He does have a point...</span> she thought, eyeing him before eyeing the cab. <span style="font-style: italic">I am pressed for time...and it really is quite horrible out here...</span> But, within that moment, she made up her mind. Interruption or not, it was just a slight detour. She had a job to do, a schedule to maintain. His cab would make up for time lost and would allow her to get there in half the time.<br/><br/>Nodding in his direction, though not returning his smile, she lowered herself into the cab, closing the umbrella out the door as she did so and dropping her bag on the seat. Emilie tried to settle in, but was too anxious, to antsy. Sitting primly in her seat, back not even touching the back, she waited for the driver to get in, so she could get this show going.</span>