A muffled thump signaled Deborah's waking that morning, where she found herself half in bed and half sprawled out on the floor. She yawned sleepily and rubbed the back of one soft black paw against her eyes, while her legs attempted to extricate themselves from the tangled sheets which still engulfed her lower body. Her dark ears twitched, catching the myriad sounds of those who were already up and about, it was clear that breakfast was currently being served. She sniffed at the air, wondering what the menu was and whether it would be better to get up for it or wriggle her way back into the inviting warmth of sleep. Was that cooking fish she smelled? Her stomach seemed to think so and rumbled a strong preference for staying awake. With a bit of thrashing about, Debbie's legs and tail came free of the blanket and were held briefly above her head before her entire body rolled backward, her hind paws touching down on the floor so that her head and shoulders could finally lift from it.<br/><br/>Languidly she went about her morning routine; a brief wash of her dark grey skin which left her shivering, another round in the never ending struggle between a brush and her thick mane of dishevelled white hair, and as much dental care as she could manage on her own, which was mostly gargling some mint flavoured oral rinse. She then rummaged through her meager array of outfits for something clean, finding a short pleated turquoise skirt which somewhat matched her eyes and a shoulderless white top. Both were designed with elastic bands to keep them in place, as buttons and straps were beyond the ken of her clumsy paws. Debbie could manage zippers and snaps with some difficulties, but elastics were her tireless friends. Last and least came a pair of blue and white striped panties which, as usual, bunched up slightly in the back where the base of her tail prevented them from being pulled up all the way. Someday, she promised herself, she'd be able to afford the specially tailored underwear which other betailed transhumans benefitted from. She pulled at the hem of her skirt, which remained covering the entirety of her backside only for as long as she kept her paws there, naturally rising again once she'd let go with a sigh. No matter how low her tail was kept, it would always bring up the back in a decidedly immodest way not all the folks at the shelter approved of.<br/><br/>Resigned to the fact that she'd done the best she could, Debbie padded her way to the dining hall with a pace which quickened the more she caught the wafting scent of hot food. She was delighted to learn the fish was real and helped herself to a modest portion. Growing up on the streets, she knew the necessity of food as well as any who stayed at Arthur's Rest and would hate to inadvertently deprive anyone of a meal through her own greed. Giving the crowd from Club Minxx a wide berth, due from a respectful nod to being their indirect competition, she scanned the area for a friendly face. Her eyes rested on Mr. Dent himself for just a bit too long before spying Nesea, a familiar sight from the streets.<br/><br/>"Good morning," she introduced herself quietly, given some of the louder voices which rang through the large and open room. She set her tray down close enough to hold a conversation with the lamia, while far enough away not to make either of them uncomfortable if silence were preferred. Nesea was someone she was familiar<i>of</i>rather than<i>with</i>, the snake lady's performances were often a good place to find clients who got into the mood after watching her sultry, swaying dances. Debbie crouched low in her seat, her tail curling around the chair's back legs to keep out of the way and in every way her body took up as little space as she could manage. "It sounds like they had a good night down at the club," she added, lacking much else to say at the moment.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>