Oscar Wilde, famous Irish playwriter, poet, and novelist, once wrote that "only the dull are brilliant at breakfast." This, as a general rule, applies to one Miss Sawyer Wren until she has had her daily breakfast of eggs and a glass of apple juice. The only problem with this is the fact that, also as a general rule, Sawyer is not the most gifted in the elite art of waking up on time, and therefore rarely has the time, or energy, to make her way downstairs and try and cook something. On the increasingly frequent days in which she hasn't the resources to make eggs, she tends to satisfy herself with a granola bar and a cup of lukewarm -because she made it using the hottest setting from her tap water- tea. On such days, she is excessively thankful for living relatively close to the school, because it allows her those few extra minutes that can be a make-it or break-it for arriving before that wretched bell rings. Today, unfortunately, is one of those days, and an outside viewer would find a girl with unnatural, but somehow not out of place, red hair lying in bed and staring with a look of utter contempt at her alarm clock, which has been blasting a mix of Jazz and punk rock for the last twenty minutes. Actually, it's kind of surprising that no one in her household has come and told her to shut the thing off. Well, perhaps they have made such pleas, but were drowned out by the music. This is certainly the most likely explanation, and is only confirmed when her elder brother, Samuel, swings the door open and stares at her with an irate expression. "Can you please turn it down? We're trying to sleep," he says, the honesty found in the softness of his voice and the tired look in his eyes. Of course, he more often than not has tired eyes and a soft voice, these days.
Sawyer scoots herself up, revealing that she had fallen asleep in the clothes she had worn yesterday, a TARDIS shirt and black pants, and obligingly taps the alarm button to turn off the music. "Sorry 'bout that, Sammy," she says with a sleepy smile, placating the elder brother who merely shakes his head and walks away silently. As soon as he has left the room, she kind of rolls off of the bed and onto her feet, the act looking both energetic and reluctant at the same time. Everything she does seems to have some amount of animation to it, as though it is her goal to be constantly moving. Or perhaps she just doesn't feel comfortable sitting still, unless she is asleep. Even when sluggish, she seems to fidget, tapping her fingers against her thigh rapidly before making her way to the bathroom and showering. Knowing that she does have a slight time crunch, Sawyer rushes through the shower and is soon in her bedroom and dressed once more, wet red strands of hair sticking to her face as she shakes her head like a wet dog for the umpteenth time that morning, because the towel couldn't dry quite right and she doesn't like hair dryers. After she finishes up the last few tasks, like brushing her teeth and making one last effort to make her hair reasonably dry before messing it up with both hands, the girl is out the door, dropping her board and stepping on before pushing herself forward down the street. When it comes to actual travel, she prefers longboards over skateboards, and luckily hers can fit into the long bottom part of her locker, because it isn't too big.
The ride to school always refreshes her, and is part of the reason that she can look anything less than dead on her feet before lunch. There is a bit of a nip in the air, making her passingly grateful for the worn military-style jacket that she has on, which is thin but effective enough for her purposes. The girl rolls into school with time to spare, skating down the hallway until she is stopped by a teacher and has to hop off, giving them a sheepish smile before making her way to her locker, which requires going downstairs anyway, where she puts away her stuff and grabs a Chinese textbook for her first period class, which is, predictably, Chinese (Chinese 4, to be exact). It is one of those classes, at least at her school, that isn't as difficult as those not taking it tend to immediately assume. This is probably because the teacher underestimates the class's ability to absorb the language. Sawyer started it freshman year because she liked the look of the characters, and is actually decent with it- especially writing.
"θεΈζ©δΈε₯½," (Laoshi zaoshang hao - Good morning teacher) Sawyer greets her instructor with a smile, tapping her her hand against her hip to a rhythm, as she seems to constantly do. She goes to her seat in the far left back and slides her backpack onto the chair to her right, because no one sits in that seat, though there is an occupied seat to her left- the owner of which has not yet arrived. Her camera, which up until now has been hanging in its usual place around her neck, is placed onto the desk in front of her with a gentle hand. The teacher announces from the front that today will be a study hall because she needs to review the projects that some of the students have prepared for a cultural assembly coming up. This is greeted by a thankful, but lazy, murmur from the class. Sawyer proceeds to pull out her phone and log onto CHAT. The first thing she notices is a message from ShadowWolf.
PatchesMcGoo has joined CHAT
Woe is you ^_^ It would be the usual: really craving a snack. Bit early to be interesting, though.