Stretch. Stretch. Yawn. Yawn. Give closed hazels a mighty rub ~

Bleary eyes blink in the dimly lit glow on her bed room string lights strung where they've been flung. Mostly up around the pillars of her canopy bed. Pawing at the gauzy drapery the Unicorn knew, even in a half asleep state that she didn't want to be pulling on them and have the whole lot of it tumbling down. It had only taken the once, but not actually. Since she maybe, might have, in the glow of her v of being a bonafide Disciple of Time, Rewind the part where all the draping fabrics came tumbling down on top of her.

It might have been a little...you know. But by golly the Unicorn had to pee! And she didn't want to have to figure her away up from the literal mountain of drapery.

So Rewind. Then gingerly getting out of bed, minding the drapery and not so much the bedding, and heading to the bathroom.

This morning was a tad different since. The Rit Star has talked her into and pie-bribed her, and kept her company through was..up. Fizzled into the Aether. Or would it have fizzled into Arcadia?

So that meant, you know, Rit time.

Because she wanted, no water-gun squirts. And definitely no Star Scoldings. But pie. She did want some pie. Or some other heavenly backed goods.

So Rit Time.
...but first she's gonna potty. And maybe brush her teeth. Maybe throw in a shower. But it's gonna happen definitely before lunch!

...

Padding back to her unkempt bed, but totally fabulously kept canopy drapes, tummy full from a wonderfully tasty lunch brunch? a light snack that was in no way shape or form lunch of any kind?

Okay. So it was lunch-lunch. Real Life Lunch.

But now it was so Rit Time.

Right after she gets comfy. Gotta be comfy.

And this time. Anchor Socks.

A breath taken. Eyes gently fall closed and Tuesday focuses on the thread, the weft, the weave, the notes the song.

It was a mixing of metaphors but it fit in the Unicorn's mind. It worked with her Will and the depth of her soul.

This time. A brake was taken. Potty and a Stretching Kind.

Once she felt the tapestry she'd woven settle around her she a sleepy smile around a wide yawn, and promptly fell asleep.

...

Stretch, stretch. Yawn. Yawn. Give closed hazels a mighty rub ~

Morning dawned and she met her fabric foe once more. Gingerly, she snaked her way out of bed.

Then in a memory of yesterday and feeling like an overachiever. She stretched and got back to it. But you know. After Potty Time, and After Shower Time. And Also Brushing her teeth before and after Lunch Time.

But here she was Overachieving Tuesday Opera Girl. Except it wasn't Opera at all, but something waaaay more awesome. Like by lots. Tuns even.

Weft. Weave. Notes. Song.

The loom stilled. The Breath Between Notes, meant a Potty and a Light Snack brake. (it was a bag of chips she'd squirreled away into a night stand. Ketchup. Smuggled in from Canada. Shhh)

Sipping some water wash away the salty remnants in her mouth she turned her attention back to her mental loom, and started singing again. The expected click and the glyph work in front of her faded. Once more mighty stretch, and a totally knocking down her canopy. Which made her pout. Since Rewinding was Off the Table. But whatever. She'll fix it in a bit. There was something waaaay more important to do right meow.

(dude she needed to grab Star and watch Super Troopers.)

Leaping up from her bed and totally not tripping over her fabric foe, she does a slightly manic (but only slightly manic, and not totally manic) happy dance.

Sight and Shield. Ah-Boo-ya.


Rolls