<strong>Emily Fitzgerald</strong><br/><strong>Location</strong>:Paris, the flat<br/><strong>Tag</strong>:Sully, John, Maria (Kumari might overhear)<br/><hr/>Emily stoops to pet Mori in the slow, steady strokes to which she seems to have become accustomed... they know that it took her a while to warm up to animals, a fact that undoubtedly annoyed Mori to no end.  She had been used to the alley-cats that scratched and hissed at anyone who cornered them, but the affection of the saucy cat had become one of the things that warmed her to the others, helping to break down the social awkwardness she'd carried with her.<br/><br/>Emily slips her feet into her tennis shoes while standing erect, the short, cotton socks gliding in easily, as she lingers over them.  She lifts her eyes at Sully's terse greeting, a hint of concern there as obvious as ever for the quiet girl.<br/><br/>When John speaks to her, she smiles again at him like a flower opening toward light.  This moment is as obvious as her affection towards him usually get-- obvious to everyone else, it seems.  She sips at her coffee again and edges toward questions as boldly as she can.  She nods to his first questions.  "Sure... sounds good.  You go through alarm clocks like Garfield the cat," she jokes.  "Um, movie?  Sure, whatever you feel like.  I was going to get in a run, then get a shower."  She says this as if she hadn't already done both before the sun came up, but this isn't unusual.  When she runs, she 'checks out of her head.'<br/><br/>Hearing the laundry running, she steps off to peek her head around the corner at Kumari, gives a little wave with her fingers, then returns back to the kitchen conversation to finish the coffee quickly.