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Her morning routine was usually the toughest part of the day. She was up by 5AM for a half hour-long jog around the park, which was then followed by another hour and a half of cardio or strengthening exercises in the local gym, depending on the day. She would have a healthy serving of breakfast afterward, and from then on, it was time to get cleaned up. After showering came the most crucial part of morning (Zero Hour as she liked to call it) in which she would decide what clothes to wear and how to style her hair for the day. She didn't become a rising fashion icon for nothing. Emmy's 'walk-in closet' was technically another room entirely, and to those who don't know better, it could very well pass as one of those quaint clothes boutique in the mall. Clothes were divided into styles, and sorted by color. Shoes had their own corner, and accessories had its place in the middle of the room, surrounding a vanity. Emmy hummed a song as she sifted through her closet, pacing along the section with her dresses. Today was pretty lax, as far as her schedule went. The first and only thing she had was a quick ADR session for her latest romcom film penciled in at 9. They only needed a couple lines of narration for the dramatic climax, so she should be in and out of the studio.

That meant she could go with something simple for the day. Emmy grabbed the white button down babydoll dress from the shelf and quickly put it on, smoothing the skirts as she finished. She topped it off with a black scarf and thigh highs, with red shoes for a splash of color. The nigh monochromatic ensemble was simple but stylish enough. Emmy walked over to the full length mirror by the corner of the room and nodded approvingly. The only thing left to do was fix her hair up in a messy bun, and that took her seconds to finish.

Her manager picked her up from her flat at 8:30 to drop her off at the studio, which had been only a couple minutes away. Just as she expected, the session passed by in a blink of an eye. She had been so invested with this character that it was almost effortless for her to slip back into her mindset, and she already had a catch in her throat before she even began. Suffice it to say, they got the recording they needed within two takes, and after some brief socializing with the crew, she was good to go.

Emmy grabbed her mobile from her purse to check the time, and just as she did, a text notification popped up. She glanced at the sender and grinned, correctly predicting what it would say before she opened the actual message itself. It seemed it was time to do what she did best. Her fingers moved deftly as she typed up a quick response: [i]Be there soon! Try not to die before then. ;)[/i] She hailed a cab and headed for Keir's flat, which was conveniently located just across from hers. It made it all the easier for her to barge in his flat whenever she was bored out of her mind.

The trip back was even faster without her overly cautious manager in the driver seat, and she was walking up Keir's flat before she knew it. Her heels clacked against the winding path, and she was greeted by a few of his neighbors with a welcoming hug. Most of them have come to know her well due to her frequent visits, and she was tickled pink every time they praise her for her craft. They were probably among her most ardent fans.

"Visiting Keir again, are you, dear?" one of the elderly ladies asked, smiling fondly at her.

"Of course," she grinned. "Poor Keir would be so lonely without me."

"That he would." Mrs. Abney laughed heartily, throwing her head back, as she nodded in agreement. "But do tell that boy not to work himself to death."

"Will do! That's why I'm here, after all." Emmy winked.

She hummed the rest of the way to his flat, unconsciously playing one of Keir's original melodies. This one had been unfinished, still without lyrics and missing a proper ending, but the melody was beautiful. He has a way with music that even professionals would envy, and it always upset her that his full potential would never be realized. Emmy had resigned to letting him choose his own path, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try shoving him in the right direction every once in a while. She smiled to herself. Perhaps she should pester him to finish that melody today. 

Upon reaching his flat, Emmy immediately knocked on Keir's door, playing out a familiar beat. It was their 'special secret knock,' one they had made up when they were children in order to keep trespassers out of their secret base, which was really just her family's garage. "Guess who~? ♪"

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When it comes to productivity, Cyrill has only two notches in his spectrum. He would either be wasting his life away, never moving from his seat as he read and reread books for days on end, or be so engrossed with his latest brew that he works nonstop and even opts to forego menial tasks such as sleeping and eating. Recently, he had been of the former variety—stuck in a particularly indolent state that he hasn't been able to recover from. He hadn't touched his cauldron in almost a week, and it made him very irritable (even more than usual, which was quite a feat in itself). With a disgruntled sigh, Cyrill slammed the book he held shut and unceremoniously threw it in the messy heap beside him, causing the uneven stack of herbology books to collapse with a loud thud. He could only read about the [i]Battle of Black Hollow[/i] for so long before his blood started boiling. The rebellion army's blatant misuse of even the most basic of potions made him seethe—it was no wonder they lost the battle without contest.

Cyrill jumped from his perch on his writing desk and stretched his arms and legs, which have become tight and sore from being locked in one position for too long. Unable to work out the knots in his legs, he grumbled to himself and reached for the small vial on the shelf above his desk. The cool blue liquid in it was his Cureall, a tonic that relieved many an ailment and thus the most popular item amongst his customers. It cured simple illnesses like a cough and cold, or a fever if taken early enough, and gave a boost of energy to those without. In his case, it eased the aches in his body. The only side-effect it bore was drowsiness, but even then, he supposed it was actually part of its healing process as well. Resting did wonders, after all. Since he hadn't been in the mood to deal with people of late, he had to make use of the last of the stash of Curealls he brewed a month ago. These potions lost their potency within twenty-seven days, and it was a shame not to make use of them.

Yawning now, as the effects of the potion were quick-acting, Cyrill sluggishly trudged toward his bedroom. The room in question was as bare as could be, and contained only a small wardrobe and a mattress (he had been too lazy to bring the wooden frame in, so they remained in a pile of junk he had beside his home). He walked to his window and looked over the valley—the sun had yet to rise, so that meant he had a couple of hours to rest before Phaylin came to get him. 

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Cyrill stirred when he heard a familiar voice call for him. It felt like only a second had passed since his eyes closed, but the sunlight that streamed through his window said otherwise. Too groggy to think straight, he could hardly understand what the dark-haired woman was saying, but somehow the words food and eat stuck with him. His stomach growled in protest right on cue, and it managed to chase away the last vestiges of sleep in his system. 

"Just go inside, oh kindhearted one." Cyrill called out, rolling his eyes even though a small smile crept on his face. This part of their dynamic had never changed since they were children; Phaylin was always the one who coaxed him out in the mornings. If it weren't for her, then he would be sleeping straight through noon. He headed to the small room adjoining his bedroom, where he had set up a basin and a small wooden tub for getting cleaned, and called out again before shutting the door closed behind him. "I'll be down in a bit." 

True to his word, he would meet with his friend and rival not long after, hair damp and eyes squinting as he fumbled for his glasses. His study was a complete mess (though he liked to call it organized chaos), but Phaylin should have long been used to it. After he replaced the glasses on the bridge of his nose, his eyes immediately locked on the basket she held, feeling his stomach grumbling again, this time in anticipation.

Cyrill held out a hand. "Okay, what's the price this time?"