If anyone were to ask, Rowan would swear she wasn’t a workaholic. And she wasn’t, at least not typically. But it felt like she was right on the cusp of a breakthrough on her C.A.R.M.A. pet project with Metahuman genes and how they were passed down, which meant that ... other things might have fallen by the wayside. Like returning text messages, or eating before her stomach started to rebel and she started to feel lightheaded. Or managing to make it to her bed before she passed out face first into a pillow, opting instead for the couch.
Likely it was the only reason she was roused by the knocking on the door of her apartment, groaning as she rolled off the couch and directly onto the floor. “Oooow.” Well, that was certainly one way to wake her up without caffeine. Limping to the door thanks to the direct attack to her knees by the floor, she checked the peephole and sighed before opening the door, looking half-dead with bags under her eyes large enough to smuggle small diamonds.
“No, you can’t jack my TV again, Noah. They’ve already replaced it twice and I haven’t even been working here for six months. Next time they’re going to take it from my paycheck.”
@noahxwright