[h1][center][color=0076a3]Petyr Jelen[/color][/center][/h1]

[center][pic coming][/center]

Location: Bedroom-> Kitchen

Interacting with-> Nina [@kittyluna45]

Petyr's alarm didn't go off. It never went off, mostly because he never set it. In fact, he hadn't set his alarm in close to 3 years; he didn't really need to. Because of how their house was laid out, Petyr's room shared a wall with the upstairs bathroom, specifically the wall that the showerhead hung on. So, when water flowed through the pipes as a result of someone taking a shower, Petyr heard it in his room and his exceptionally light sleeping did the rest. Ever since Nina had gotten into her routine of showering fifteen minutes before he usually got up, he'd figured out he didn't need to wake up to any of the cacophonous alarms he'd used previously. It honestly made mornings just a little more bearable. 

Just not this morning. Mostly because he didn't get anywhere NEAR enough sleep the previous night. Part of it had been the Sunset Eclipse, as he'd heard it called somewhere, and the way Verona was all atwitter about it. But mostly it had been because sometime in the night he'd woken up with a start because he was so damn [i]cold.[/i] And nothing seemed to warm him up enough. He'd spent the night waking up every couple of hours shivering and then going back to sleep. The inability to take a warm shower did nothing to help his mood. 

The smell of freshly made oatmeal wafting upstairs as he toweled off did though. 

[color=a0410d]"Petyr! Breakfast is warming up and lunches are made! Hope you will be down soon!"[/color] shouted Nina up the stairwell just as he started to slip his pants on.

[color=0076a3]"Two minutes!"[/color] he called back as he ducked back into his room to grab a shirt. For a moment, he started to reach for his favorite ensemble, a dark grey t-shirt with a black button up, but then he remembered the upcoming Memorial. A shiver that had nothing to do with how cold he was shot up his spine as he remembered those terrible, fear-filled days, but he forced them to the back of his mind. He'd leave those shirts for the actual memorial day; they were, after all, one of the only sets he had that wasn't faded, torn, or slightly too small. Instead he grabbed a fading blue t-shirt by itself, slipped it over his head, grabbed his shoes and jacket, and thumped down to the kitchen.

[color=0076a3]"Smells like cinnamon and toastiness down here,"[/color] he said as he swung through the entryway to where the table was, [color=0076a3]"Morning sis."[/color]