There were days you woke up and a little voice in your head tells you what to expect that day. Sometimes it's vague, something like 'something is going to happen today' or just plain like 'another day'. Reira decided her little voice was screaming at her how the day was going to suck.
Reira let out a long yawn as she entered the park. She had a feeling the bags under her eyes were worse that morning. Stupid university students. Stupid devil-cat. Stupid assignments. Stupid dreams. All when she had an article to slap together.
After devil-cat Mistress had gotten her up she had felt weirdly too wired to go back to sleep so, having failed that dream, she made some waffles for herself and Mistress. Mistress had sniffed the offering, only deigning it safe once she was sure that it wasn't one of Reira's experiments while Reira alternated between pouring over dozens of papers and eating. When she found an article on the serial coma-murders, no matter how far shoved at the back it was, she snipped it out and made a note in her leather notebook. Most of the articles had come from respectable magazines with the same message in variations but the ones she paid most attention to were with theories. University theorists and doctors she kept a particularly close eye out for. Anything with an 'official' air went a long way in the art of bullshit.
However, the more she tried focusing on the articles, the more she kept having flashes of a blue lit train. She had scowled at the articles as though it were their fault and muttered “I'll do this later”.
Which was why she was in the park wearing a loose t-shirt, her brown leather jacket, and track pants. When all else failed, running was a good way to mind flush idiocy.
After stretching she blew lightly into her hands for heat. Then, after a few calming breaths, instead of going at a slow jog as she usually did when she started, she broke into a full run.
Meanwhile, she remained unaware of the extra weight in her jacket pocket.