The One and Only BAMF
All that Psyche could possibly know right now, with his mind foggy and his vision blurry and dark, was that it was too insanely early to be awake. He closed his eyes to block out the sun coming through from the window, but it didn't help anything and he couldn't get back to sleep. It was too late for that now. He frowned, glaring up at the ceiling before turning his glare over to the clock at his bedside, right next to his gang's signature dagger. He didn't carry it around with him; instead, he kept it at his bedside for safety from night intruders. It might of made him seem a little paranoid--after all, who would be dumb enough to try to break into the home of one of the toughest gangs around?--but he didn't care. Safety first. Besides, in this world, you could never be too safe. That was rule number one.
He wasn't happy with the time he read on the clock. He was even less happy when he got tangled in his comforter and ended up rolling off the bed with an unflattering flop, a groan followed soon after as the pillow plopped down after him and smacked him in the face. Psyche growled under his breath, taking the pillow and resisting the urge to rip it in half. Well, okay, so he didn't resist anything. His otherwise silent room echoed with the ripping sound of a pillow going long before it's prime. The poor thing lost its feathers all over the room. Psyche cared less, pushing himself up to his feet and brushing the feathers off himself.
It didn't take long for him to get dressed in his usual street clothes and deciding to leave the room, not that he could go back to sleep anyway. He didn't even care to check himself over or brush his messy hair. Maybe if he had, he would of noticed the feather in his hair. What had woken up him up was a mystery best left unsolved. Psyche didn't exactly plan to look to far into it anyway. He wasn't exactly a morning person, however, so it was good that he was met with an empty living room after the way he'd woken up. He was about to grab something for breakfast when he heard faint thudding noises from the training room on the other side of the building. He didn't have to make much of a guess on who it was. Sighing harshly to himself, Psyche padded over to the training area, opening the door and taking a look inside with an unamused face.
"When do you sleep?" he grumbled, still not in the best of moods. Yeah, definitely not a morning person. He stepped inside, not caring if he might of killed Senerio's concentration or not, and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. A yawn escaped his mouth. If it were anyone other than a member of his own gang, he wouldn't be showing how tired he was. His guard was always up, but he let it waver around those he trusted. He trusted Senerio. He had to, really. "When the others get up, we got somewhere to be. I wanna talk with the others again to figure out what we're gonna do." By 'others,' he met the other gangs. Psyche yawned again, starting towards the door and waving a lazy hand behind him at Senerio. "When you're done with all that, eat something." And with that, he left to the kitchen to grab his own self something to eat.
Instead of getting something right away, however, he passed by the kitchen altogether to go to the bedrooms. He didn't like being kept waiting and there was no telling when the other guys would get up. Not to mention he'd woken up early, so in Psyche's twisted mind, it was only fair the others were forced up just the same. First came Kita's room. He knocked on it loudly, making the door shake. "Wakey-wakey!" he called from the other side. When he was satisfied with that, he continued on to Teris' door, pausing outside of it and planning on repeating the process, but stopping for a moment. Teris could get him back if he wanted to... Eh, he didn't care. "Yo, Teris! Get your lazy butt up!" he called, ignoring the fact that Teris usually got up earlier than him on most days. "We've got somewhere to be," he added.
Happy with having woken up the rest of his members, Psyche turned on heel and went back to the kitchen to grab a sandwich. He wasn't exactly a good cook and preferred not to--it's a chick thing--so a sandwich was enough for him for breakfast. Well, a sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk, of course.