[center][h1][color=#cc44ff]Fiala[/color][/h1][/center]


Standing before the small mirror, Fiala ran her fingers repeatedly through her short blue hair, fluffing it a little as it dried. She had recoloured it just two days earlier: this was her favourite time, when the colour was at its most vibrant. Her stylist had done an amazing job with it, too - layering her hair just perfectly, cutting it in just the right way to frame her face. She couldn't be happier with the way she looked.

When she was content with admiring herself, Fiala pulled on an oversized t-shirt and exited the bathroom, taking just two steps down the hall before entering the bedroom. The room was filled with a thin haze, just enough to be noticeable from the hallway but easily forgettable once the door was closed. Pete was still lying on the bare mattress, the smoke from his cigarette mingling with the cone incense and contributing to the haze. He sat up as she entered, and beckoned her back to bed. She obliged without hesitation.

Half an hour later, she rose again, and began collecting her clothing to prepare for the day. [color=#cc44ff]"It's supposed to be hot today, right?"[/color] She didn't wait for an answer before pulling on a white floral crop top.

"Yeah." Pete sat up in bed as he lit another cigarette. "Hey, Lenore... I got a question for you."

[color=#cc44ff]"Hm?"[/color] She looked over her shoulder as she slathered on his deodorant.

"I, uh... got an extra key made. It's yours if you want it."

Smiling, she sat on the mattress and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. She puffed away as he stood, fumbled through a nearby pair of jeans, and produced a silver key. Without a word, she traded the cigarette for the key.

Then it was Pete's turn to get ready for the day. Fiala could hear him singing in the shower down the hall, loudly and off key. She couldn't help but smirk as she pulled on her boots and glanced at the guitar-shaped wall clock. With practiced speed, she pulled several books off the shelf, pocketed the money tucked between the pages, and replaced them all as if nothing happened. She slipped on his favourite jacket, snapped on his wristwatch, grabbed the pack of cigarettes and left the hazy room. The last thing she did before exiting the small apartment was drop the silver key on the carpet, a near-silent [color=#cc44ff]"Oops"[/color] slipping through her lips.

Walking down the street below, Fiala lit a cigarette. She couldn't help but think that she had been moving faster than usual while making her getaway. She meditated on this a bit, unsure of what to make of it - it was probably her imagination. To be sure, she glanced at her new watch.

No, that can't be right.

She threw down her cigarette and lit another as she turned a corner.