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[color=D8BFD8]"Shit."[/color] 

The sun had only just made its way into the sky and already this day was finding ways to slap her in the face. Vern woke up at her desk, ostensibly called her work desk but more often than not was used for anything other than work; this wasn't the first time she had fallen asleep at the desk and thus woke up with a stiff neck and a slight headache, but this was one of the first times where she woke up in a small pile of dried caffeinated beverage. It was fortunate that she hadn't been working on her pages last night since it was likely they'd be ruined now. That didn't stop the folly of her decision, namely sleeping next to a mostly full can of Pepsi, from biting her in the ass. Or, as the case was, sticking her face to the desk. Vern's first act that morning was slowly dealing with the stinging pain that came when having to literally peel skin out of a puddle of pisswater pop. 

That was going to leave a vibrant red mark. 

Vern's work desk was like a warzone. Empty soda cans lined around it like trophies, with greasy snack food bags strewn about, though plenty of those lined the floors along with wrappers from hamburger places. When she was younger and living with a room that was a different sort of messy, with clothes and papers all around, her grandmother often compared the room to a sty. If only gran could see Vern's room now. A pig's sty was probably more inviting to the average person. Vern didn't think it was so bad. For one thing more of the floor was visible than wrappers, and there were still plenty of cans and packages in the garbage bin...just that there was no longer any room for anything else. It could've been much, much worse. It had been worse before, at the apartment she was living in before Suncrest. Buncha controlling assholes at that place.

With her face unstuck and her eyes adapting to the much too early wake up time, the memories of the night before slowly came back. She stayed in. Of course she did, it was a Saturday night. She did some pages. Drank a six pack...though not of beer. Ordered some take out. Didn't tip the deliveryman. DID tip the girl on the computer a crisp ten dollars for the show. Downed a few more. Left the television on. Passed out without pants on. That explained the attire, the same shirt she wore on Friday being her present clothing, complete with stains that were probably there even before she put it on. 

[color=D8BFD8]"Wild night."[/color] Vern yawned to herself as she reached for the white box of Chinese food that was just sitting there near her desk. [color=D8BFD8]"Still fresh."[/color] There was a plastic fork sticking out of the box of fried rice with extra egg and though it had been out all night, Vern still took a bite. It didn't go down easy, and the rice was...crispy? Cold, clammy egg and cold beef. Not the most nutritious breakfast but hunger worked in mysterious ways. She took a second bite and nearly hurled. Then she took a third bite and decided that even she had her limits. 

Vern set the Chinese box aside, it'd be thrown out when garbage day rolled around. She didn't want spoiled take out smelling up the room and ruining the pleasant odor of hamburger and sugar that permeated the room presently. And with her mind on sugar, Vern stood from her desk chair, stretching her arms above her head, and sighing at the chub on her arm. Another thing her grandmother would have complaints about. Best not to dwell on it. The pantsless artist crossed the gap from her desk to her bed, specifically to the mini-fridge that sat near her bed...for those late night sodas and early morning chugs. [color=D8BFD8]"What? No no no. FUCK!"[/color] The fridge, as Vern opened it, was empty. She just put a twenty four pack in there on Friday. 

It was Sunday! 

Vern didn't plan on leaving today, but what other choice did she have? Her fridge had to be stocked. It was the only way she could live. And work. And be responsible. The corner store wasn't terribly far but it still meant having to be a functional adult and changing into clothes that weren't three days old. People could always tell. Maybe the shop was open now. Maybe she could get there, grab some cans, and maybe have time for a breakfast sandwich. Extra egg. 

Tossing her stained shirt to the floor, Vern picked up a purple t-shirt also from the floor. After giving it the sniff test, she put it on, then took it off when she saw a much more noticeable stain covering up the funny little graphic on the front. Another shirt, red, was given the sniff test, passed, and put on. There was a hole on the bottom right, but no stains that Vern could see. Good. An old pair of shorts made up for her lack of pants. [color=D8BFD8]"I look like a reverse tomato."[/color] Her shorts were a rather ugly green and with her red top she lamented the tomato comment with a slight grin. Had she grown? She remembered those shorts going to her knees but now they barely managed to get past the thighs. It was fine. She was just popping down to the shop. 

Grabbing her purse, or rather her wallet, and keys, Vern left the safety and comfort of her room, closing and locking the door behind her. Keep the head down. Keep walking. Surely no one would bump into her.