Blaire Harmer's Story

God, it was far too early. Victoria wakes up to the alarm on her phone, the final alarm and the only one she ever actually wakes up to, if at all, singing Louis Armstrong directly into her left ear. Her head is pounding, but of course when isn't it, and making "It's a Wonderful Life" seem almost cruel, like one of those cheerful songs played in the battle scene of a movie. It could be worse, of course. Once upon a time she had not gotten quite used to the headaches that come with a terrible drinking problem, and they had prevented her from so much as opening her eyes the next morning. By now, they are relatively mild and easily cured with an aspirin and a stiff cup of coffee- black. Victoria loves sweet things, but she has never been able to stomach them early in the morning, even as a child, and prefers her morning Joe as bitter as humanly possible. Perhaps she likes her beverage to reflect the fact that she isn't a morning person. Well, it could be two in the afternoon and she'd groan waking up. So perhaps she simply isn't a waking up person. Today, in fact, it is already one when she wakes up craving coffee and relief. Perhaps a cool glass of bleach would get the job done just as well, she muses with some strange twist of joking cheer. There is no genuine risk there- Victoria is far too invested in her work, and far too terrified of whatever comes after death, to stare down a barrel willingly. Besides, if she wants the same experience she may as well glare directly into the eyes of Dr. Mason. She likes the kid, sure, but she swears that on occasion his eyes have done what scientists have thus far failed to do: achieved absolute zero.

"Sunday breakfast," she reminds herself brightly, using that and the still present desire for coffee to motivate getting out of the bed, taking a quick shower at the highest possible temperature (she likes her skin to be burning red from the heat), and shrugging on jeans and a lightweight cotton button up.

Victoria is completely convinced that breakfast on Sundays is always the most delicious, even when it is the exact same thing that is prepared on Tuesday or Friday. There is something distinctly Sunday-y about Sunday breakfast that simply warrants dragging yourself out of bed. The Enders family of three had not been particularly religious, and instead on Sundays would go and get breakfast before the post-church rush. That breakfast was always genuinely the best, as no one in the household cooked and the typical breakfast was a banana and a handful of pretzels on the way out the door.

She is on her way down the hall to the elevator when she spots the fairer Harmer sibling leaving her brother's room. "Giving your brother more things to brood over, Blaire?"

The biologist had just about darted out of the room, suggesting that some sort of disagreement or taunt may have taken place. Half the time the Harmers inspire that only-child longing for a sibling, the other half they make her thank her stars she had been the only progeny of her parents.

Victoria winces at a sudden new pulse in her headache. She had forgotten to grab an aspirin from her cabinet, damn it. Well, she'll have to grab one upstairs. Perhaps it had been indeed a few drinks too many last night. She can hardly remember how much it had been, though. It really is always a few drinks too many with Victoria, as anyone who joins her can attest. She always ends up either draping herself over people affectionately or trying to start a fight. It would be much better for the woman if she were the sort to just fall asleep.