Sleep was shattered by a fist of noise, crashing mercilessly into Avis' skull. For split second, it merged with the rumbling horror of her dreams, but soon resolved itself into a melody and cadence that was entirely separate from the staccato screams and rumblings that sounded as though the blackness of the universe itself had decided to speak that had already been echoing inside her head. With a groan that was almost a scream, almost a growl, Avis sent her own fist into her pillow and used it to lever herself upright so that when she cracked her gummy eyes open she would be able to see more than her bedsheets. Her other hand cast about, seeking the source of her disturbance, and eventually found the culprit on her nightstand. A slap spurned the alarm back into silence, and then she flung herself out of her nest of covers, hoping the momentum of the lunge would carry her into a good morning.

In the faint light cast by the glowing green numbers of her alarm clock, the Warlock found her shower sandals and basket and then stumbled into the hallways of the Fourth Wall. Then, sometime later, she emerged from the bathroom and trudged back to her room, shambling like a drowned rat risen from the dead, sandals squeaking wetly all the way. Shower things were put away, clothing things were put on, and then she shambled like a dry, half-alive rat out to the kitchen for breakfast. Food always went a long way toward making her feel human again.

Eggs, toast, sausage, smoothy-stuff down the hatch and then she returned to her den. Shoes were found, carefully loosened, and then feet were applied. Strings were meticulously tightened, then tied, and with a certain amount of satisfaction Avis wiggled her toes in their confines, making the cloth of the tennis shoes writhe. Shoes meant healthy feet, and healthy feet meant movement. Movement meant freedom, and freedom meant life. It always hurt, but it was good to be alive. With a sardonic grin, Avis grabbed her bag and headed outside, bound for the bus.

It was early, but so was she. Fuck yeah. She trooped past the regulars and made her way to the back corner of the bus to where the engine would massage her back and everything else would be in front of her eyes. The pleasant thunder of drums and bass helped drown out the noise of the great machine that sent her hurtling through space. About fifteen stops later she got off, waited, and then grabbed a different line across the city to a community college. She was about 17 minutes early for class, so she found a nice corner to sit in and pulled out her text book. Her hands began working their way through the gestures listed on the pages, warming up for the three hours of class ahead of her. It was a grind, but even more than that, it was a lot to take in. Her forehead started to itch, and then to burn. With a whispered curse, she stopped the gestures and rubbed at her forehead, right over her third eye. Accelerated courses were a bitch, but learning any slower would be worse. It was better this way. Time was only something rich people and Acanthi had, and she was neither.

So, it passed. She'd survived another class, had moved on to work. She'd survive that too. She was already half-way through her shift, already half-way to being able to retreat home. On days like this, four walls and a roof meant comfort, not prison, and she longed for the solidity of her Sanctum. Especially when her hands started flexing around her mop when her mind started drifting, trying to form shapes that could only be made when empty. Cursing she dropped the mop, letting the limbs vomit out their shapes.

Fire. Tree. Eat. Fork. 83. Tasty. New York. Bird. Sell. Sad. Soap. Water.

Her forehead started to burn again. Pressing a cool palm against her skin, eyes squinting shut, she bent down and fumbled for her mop. Maybe, if she just focused on the work, she'd be ok. Just focus on the sweeping strokes of the mop, focus on the movement of her body. Was that what Jonokuchi did when sweeping the Circle? Was it some kind of Zen thing? Probably. She'd give it a try, and hope that the vision of smooth liquid would quell the fire in her head.

It did help, but once the work was done, the burning returned. Her hands formed shapes when she wasn't looking, asking a homeless man if he wanted to eat steak and fries. Thankfully he didn't understand. She didn't have that kind of money, and she wouldn't have taunted him by reneging if he did. She was cruel, but never in that way. Never to people like him. Not unless he gave her reason that is. Then, then there would be pain. Blood. Death. Her hands said it all, but everyone around her was blind even when seeing it. That made her smile.

Two bus rides and she was home again. Food had become a problem. Hands wanted to name the food, the plate, the utensils, the table. Thank god she didn't know the words for kitchen appliances yet. Well, not that they had many, but still. They seemed like dangerous ones to know for some reason. Still, she'd learn them eventually. For now, eating was what she would do. The still pool of her mind lent stillness to her fingers, and they stopped rebelling. Salad, rice, beans, and chicken made their way into her stomach.

It made for a warm belly, which made for a sleepy Avis. She couldn't sleep, though. Not yet. There was still something she had to do. Her bag clunked to the table, no cleared of dishes, and a textbook was pulled out. She brought her laptop from her room and set in for a round of studying. She didn't need a notebook. She wasn't using a pen. Every move she made with her hands, ever move she saw on her screen, every definition, every piece of grammar she looked at got burned into her brain, etched with molten intention into her grey matter. She could almost smell smoke while she worked, the stylus of her will carving the knowledge of the day into place. This way, she would become fluent very quickly. Quickly enough to make it useful.

Unfortunately, it wasn't quickly enough to allow for a good night's sleep. She had six hours before she had to get up. Three more weeks before she would be done. She would survive. She'd sleep when she was done. Her hands agreed with her, and it was on their pillow that she eventually drifted into unconsciousness on. It wasn't intentional, but maybe if her hands also got sleep, they wouldn't bug her so much in the morning.