2PM, Saturday afternoon. Mitsuru Kagami starts her weekend as she usually does: With a killer hangover.

She's awoken from her brick-like sleep by her phone, which announces her to the waking world to the soundtrack of Katy Perry's Roar. With a groan, she idly reaches around her bed, before finding her phone beneath her pillow. With a swipe of the touchscreen, she silences her alarm, rolls over, and goes back to sleep. Five minutes later, this exact same turn of events happens again. Another five minutes, the cycle repeats, and once more five minutes after that. Finally, at 2:20PM, she musters the willpower to roll off her mattress and clamber to her feet.

She stumbles out of her cramped bedroom, through her narrow hallway, and into the break room, or as she calls it, her kitchen. Her Dusclops is already there, the electric kettle already boiling, and leftovers already spinning in the microwave. She mumbles a greeting to her Pokemon slash assistant, though it offers little in reply. So, she simply carries on, pulling a mug from the cupboard and dumping a spoonful of instant coffee into it.

A few minutes later, she's sitting on the floor of her consultation room, "enjoying" her hastily made breakfast as she idly scrolls through her Clefacebook feed. Is it glamorous? No. But is it what she wants out of life? No. But is it cheap? Yes, and really, isn't that what mat--

Knock knock knock.

Oh, heck. Did she express order something while drunk again? With a sigh, she grabbed a old bathrobe from the floor and threw it on over her (tasteful, Jigglypuff-patterned) pajamas as she shambled through reception. Then, clearing her throat, she opened the front door.

"Hello! Um, can I help you?"

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Morrighan Cahill