[center][h1][u][b][color=chocolate]Blake Mitchell[/color][/b][/u][/h1]


If there was one perk to having a bedroom where the window is positioned in such a way as to have the morning rays of sunshine beam down directly onto a sleeping body, it was the simple fact that an alarm clock became needed only during those pesky times of the year when clouds and dreary weather meant the sun had to find other ways to let its rays shine down. This morning, as was the case with most mornings on this side of the continent, the sun bathed the master bedroom of a charming, yet aesthetically diminishing the value of those around it, ranch house. And had the owner of the house been where she should have been, namely asleep on a mattress on its last legs - certainly the springs sounded as if they were going to poke through any night now - then the natural alarm clock would've worked its solar magic. 

Unfortunately, Blake Mitchell was not asleep in her bed. 

[color=peachpuff] "Moooooooom. Moooooooom. MOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"[/color] Felicia Blake didn't have time for this and increasing her volume didn't seem to help matters much at all. The child pouted as her exclamations fell on deaf, or rather sleeping, ears. After their conversation the previous night, taking place just before Blake had tucked her in, Felicia figured that her mother would be out late, but she never thought to find her own mother collapsed on their couch, waist of her trousers down to her knees, blouse buttons all undone, and the navy blue of her suit jacket in a crumpled pile on the floor. 

At a guess, Felicia assumed that after coming home, Blake was in the process of stripping out of her everyday clothes to change into more reasonable sleepwear...only to get halfway done and collapse in tiredness onto the couch. She hadn't been too far off the mark. 

Regardless, Felicia needed two things, she needed her mother awake and she needed her mother awake quickly or she was likely to miss the bus to school. If her voice wasn't a suitable alarm clock, her mother's favorite toy was bound to be. Stomping her feet, she stepped over near the television mounted on the wall and the cabinet beneath it. Inside the cabinet was a stereo system, used mainly to aggravate the neighbors near enough every day; noise complaints only ever seemed to get the music to stop for a day or two, at best. Felicia covered her ears as her index finger pressed the ON button and the lights on the system flickered to life. 

[color=silver] 'NOW PLAYING'[/color] cackled the robotic lady voice that lived inside the machine, [color=silver] 'TRACK FIVE'[/color] 


After a beat to get the CD inside spinning, a guitar plucked its way through the opening bars of the song and shortly thereafter the voice of Lindsey Buckingham was added to the mix. [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ul-cZyuYq4]'Loving you isn't the right thing to do. How can I ever change things that I feel?'[/url] Once the music started in earnest, Blake started stirring on the couch, her lips wriggling and her head turning on the pillows. It wasn't until the second trip down to the chorus that Blake Mitchell's muddy brown eyes opened in full. 

[color=chocolate] "This isn't a morning song. Slot two, track one, THAT'S a morning song."[/color] Blake was still groggy, and being serenaded by Fleetwood Mac wasn't going to change that anytime soon. Her throat was dry, leading to a husky bit of 'morning voice' but still she rose up to a seated position, blinking several times. [color=chocolate] "I told you not to touch that, Felicia,"[/color] Blake sighed; at least it wasn't broken. 

[color=peachpuff] "I had to wake you up, mom."[/color]

[color=chocolate] "Did you have breakfast?"[/color]

The bowl of cereal Felicia prepared herself was currently in the kitchen sink, sans milk and cereal, of course. 

[color=peachpuff] "I need you to sign this."[/color] Felicia bounded over to a still-waking Blake, handing a small slip of paper to her. Blake snatched the slip and snapped her fingers until a pen appeared in them, handed to her by Felicia, of course. 

[color=chocolate] "Permission slip? Field trip?"[/color]

[color=peachpuff] "Mmhmm,"[/color] Felicia responded with as vague a response as her little self could muster. In actuality, it was a disciplinary action slip, given to her by her teacher so that Blake would be well aware of Felicia's continued vandalisms to school property - this was the fifth desk Felicia had drawn on this semester. But rather than create a fuss around dinner - if indeed microwaved frozen kids meals from the grocery store counted as dinner - Felicia opted to get the slip signed with as little issue as possible. 

Once the signature was written, Felicia snagged the slip back, gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek, and was out the door towards the bus stop before Blake was even fully awake. Blake sighed heavily as she ran her palm down her face; it was way too early and she had had far too few hours of sleep for this to be an acceptable way to start the day. After tucking Felicia into bed, Blake had to answer the call of duty, or rather the call of a worried client who believed their child to be sneaking out at night. This in turn led to Blake hiding in various bushes and shrubberies in the park. Some would consider that to be the actions of some weird pervert. Blake considered it a way to make ends meet. But even still, there was only so much enjoyment one could get from taking secret candids of couples happy in the park - often a wee bit too happy for public standards - before it just became routine...and Blake had passed that point some time ago. 

Why, oh why, did she become a private investigator...had she known it would lead to her being a more morally righteous but still slightly creepy paparazzo...she might've considered a career change. The last night's job, as it turned out, was nothing. Just an overly worried parent worrying for nothing. Blake didn't care, she had her payment...though being out well into the middle of the night was no longer her idea of fun. 

And if staying out late wasn't bad enough, yesterday her eternally lazy assistant had left a strongly worded, though poorly written - poor kid wasn't at all getting the most of his college education - letter of resignation atop her pile of office mail. It was a rough day all around but the only thing to do now was simply to make today better. And that had to start with a change in music. 

Blake rose from the couch, nearly tripping forward until she finished stripping her trousers and, for good measure, her blouse along with it. A few presses of the remote on the coffee table and the music stopped and the mechanical gears spun in motion. [color=silver]'NOW PLAYING...TRACK ONE'[/color]

Unlike Felicia, who had no appreciation for the classics, Blake turned the volume up as high as it could go just in time for the upbeat song to blast out loud. [url= https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mqT5s0j9CFY]'Mother told me, yes she told me, I'd meet girls like you...'[/url] Blake began singing along to the song as she bobbed her head along to the beat. Even as she stepped into the shower she didn't stop her singing - poor though it most likely was. Some might've considered seven in the morning far too early to play music so loud that every room in her house could hear it clearly...but Blake clearly didn't count herself among that number. 

Blake's outfit was similar to the one she had worn last night, though rather than a navy blue pantsuit and white button down blouse, today was a [url=http://www.dhresource.com/0x0s/f2-albu-g3-M00-80-F1-rBVaHVWL0QmAVuatAADE3fdj8bY289.jpg/2015-professional-design-uniforms-formal.jpg]grey pantsuit and black button down blouse.[/url] The trousers were a tad bit snug, but until they were irreparably damaged, Blake would continue to wear them. 

Being the owner of her own little business, such as it was, meant she didn't technically have to dress herself so...seriously, but it helped her feel more like one of the detectives that you see on television, the impossibly attractive ones who always nab the bad guy in the end and still had time for saucy romances. Half of the job was in the image, or so Blake believed, and considering her lack of professionalism when it came to arguably more important ventures - such as child raising - Blake wanted to be professional in, well, a profession. 

Today was already faring better than the previous. And that was a step in the right direction for a change. Once the album she was blasting loudly came to an end, then she would find the time to leave, to perhaps drop by somewhere for the cheapest microwavable breakfast treat and coffee she could find, or perhaps to simply head to the office. After all, she had to call up the local papers to put up an ad in the help wanted section. She was already regretting not paying close attention to the technical babble her lazy assistant had tried to instruct her in before he walked out on her. 

The day was her oyster. And she didn't have a shellfish allergy.[/center]