Nyteshaed pulled herself out of the toilet, washing her mouth out in the sink and splashing some water on her face. She looked at the ratty face looking back at her from the mirror. [i]God I look like a drowned rat.[/i] She thought, pulling at the bags under her eyes. Looking down at herself she decided a shirt would be pertinent before she went downstairs. Not that she cared much, but the others bitched at her for hours the last time she sowed up topless to breakfast. It wasn't her fault they were a bunch of prudes. She stretched and returned to her room, digging a wrinkled Motorhead shirt from the pile at the foot of her bed. She pulled it on over her head, not bothering with a bra. She looked at herself in the mirror, almost thankful that she wasn't big enough to need one.
She attempted to rub a bit of life into her face and failed. She took the railing downstairs and stumbled on her landing, her head continuing to protest any kind of activity. She sauntered into the kitchen, her recently emptied stomach rumbling softly at the smell of bacon.
[color=CC0000]"I love the smell of cooking flesh in the morning."[/color] She grinned, dropping into her seat and leaning back on two legs.