I GET TO USE MY SMASHFACED ICON
Ari had one firm rule in her life, and that rule went something like this: unless the world was ending, there was literally no other reason to be awake until the clock hit double digits. Nothing good ever came of mornings. The sun was too bright, especially if one had been drinking, the people out and about were either surly or too damn cheery, and the bright colors of the Theater District even looked faded, probably due to the fact that everything was deserted. In short, mornings were completely useless for anything but lying abed.
So why, why, was someone playing a piano in her flat?
Why was there a piano in her flat? She didn't recall owning one.
It was almost a surprise when her eyelids didn't creak on their way up. She groaned and rubbed her temple; whatever had transpired last night had left her sore in all kinds of places. Possibly because she was sleeping on an unpadded bench.
Well, that just took the fun out of everything.
"You know," she said to the as yet unseen musician, her voice an unseemly croak barely reminiscent of her usual tone, "we're not much for rules around here, but I'd support one to ban noise before noon." The playing was quite lovely, she was sure, but anything at all before noon was noise in her book.