Kaidy's woken less by the golden morning light as by movement: Izzy is trying to stealthily struggle out from between her, Martin, and the tangle of their bedsheets. He's failing, it should be said, on all counts.
"Mrlgh," she says, with a tongue like cotton wool; swallows thickly, swallows again, and pushes herself into more or less sitting up.
(Martin still hasn't moved; a ruffle of bright red hair crests one pillow.)
"Morning," she manages quietly, on the second attempt: if Martin's somehow not awake yet, she sees no reason to change that unnecessarily. "You all right, Iz?"
Freshly awake, he looks like a very ruffled owl, but blinks at her incredulously. "Getting your breakfast," he says, with the thinly-tried patience of someone explaining the extremely obvious to the very slow. "It's my job."
Something about the way Izzy says it jars something in her brain until she frowns back at him.
"Not every time, it isn't," she informs him firmly, sitting up properly and swinging her legs out from under the sheets. "And today's my turn."
Scene 1: Quite Early One Morning
"Mrlgh," she says, with a tongue like cotton wool; swallows thickly, swallows again, and pushes herself into more or less sitting up.
(Martin still hasn't moved; a ruffle of bright red hair crests one pillow.)
"Morning," she manages quietly, on the second attempt: if Martin's somehow not awake yet, she sees no reason to change that unnecessarily. "You all right, Iz?"
Freshly awake, he looks like a very ruffled owl, but blinks at her incredulously. "Getting your breakfast," he says, with the thinly-tried patience of someone explaining the extremely obvious to the very slow. "It's my job."
Something about the way Izzy says it jars something in her brain until she frowns back at him.
"Not every time, it isn't," she informs him firmly, sitting up properly and swinging her legs out from under the sheets. "And today's my turn."