[center][h1][b][u][i]NOELLE HODGE[/i][/u][/b][/h1][/center]
[center][color=Fuchsia][u][i][b]New York City
21st of August, 2050[/b][/i][/u][/color][/center]

Noelle's morning was, as usual, entirely mundane. Her alarm clock, a loud, shrill thing, met with its usual fate at precisely 6:30am, landing in a shattered, smouldering heap on the floor only to return to its perch, still crowing, some nine seconds later. She crawled out of bed a good ten minutes later, as she did most days, and stumbled to the washroom with a groan to splash some water over her face in an attempt to wake up. At 7 o'clock precisely, a slightly more composed Noelle, now clothed in a loose button-down one of her exes had left and a pair of baggy shorts, ambled into her apartment's kitchen and flicked on the radio to listen to the morning news while she made herself a cup of hot tea. As the same old New York gossip drifted past her still-bleary ears, she set about mindlessly cooking breakfast, a snap of her fingers yielding a flame to heat the pan (She wasn't worried about power costs, but it was good, mindless practise). 

Her cup of lifeblood in one hand and a Full English in the other, she eventually made her way through to her lounge, flicking on the lights with a smack of her head against the switch. Tiredly, she flopped down onto the sofa, and downed half her mug in one go before flicking on the television. Like every other Sunday, there Soap Opera omnibus on almost every channel, so she flicked to the least annoying for some background noise and ate her breakfast with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Time was, when she'd first settled down here some months prior, that she'd have been beside herself simply for a familiar living space and some alone time; nowadays, she couldn't help but feel [i]bored[/i]. 

She finished the last of her Bacon as some catfight broke out on her programme, and she chuckled half-heartedly before, finally, picking up her phone from the coffee table, where it had been left charging as usual. It was packed with the usual guff, along with a long-winded, insubstantial message from her father that she only half read, and, at 8 o'clock, she finally gave in and decided to get some work done. Her office was a small space to the side of the flat, sequestered in what used to be a storage cupboard. (She liked how snug it was). The computer was some fancy, top-of-the-line garbage that a sales assistant had flogged her for far more than it was probably worth, and it booted quickly, bringing her face-to-face with a loudly flashing priority e-Mail notification which she promptly ignored. She'd had the like a few times before, and, frankly, it was too bloody early to deal with governmental bullshit. 

The best part of an hour was spent doing some cursory research into an esoteric fire spell her dad had suggested she look at a few weeks ago. It took a few passwords she [i]maybe[/i] shouldn't have had access to, but hey, payment was payment, and she came out of it with a new project to work on! That done, she took a moment to write out a decent reply to her dad before deciding she'd procrastinated enough. With a sigh, she opened up her e-Mail and, leaving the pop-up for last, began her daily review of the hundreds of job requests that regularly flooded her inbox. It was largely the usual: new magitech reactors needing an overseer, a couple of private live-fires, an experiment into the effect of pain on a Daeva's natural abilities from some new-age group in Tokyo (which was swiftly ignored), and  a few British civil servants requesting her help on the security front, which she flagged up as potentials. (As unique as her Time Slip was, she always appreciated being recognised for her more standard talents). There was also a high-paying job as a stunt supervisor for a nearby film shoot, and the money seemed good, so she added that to the shortlist. Only after a good twenty minutes of this routine did she finally reach the end of the list and, with some reluctance, turn her attention to whatever the CIA wanted from her [i]this[/i] time.

When she left her office, there was an uncharacteristically cheerful look on her face, and she hummed thoughtfully to herself as she made her second cup of tea that morning.

[color=fuchsia]"Well, this should spice up my month."[/color]