It was 1 AM. Running his fingers down the page of a newspaper, Sunday's eyes flickered over each of the words with growing disinterest. He had just picked this paper up and sat down on his bed to pass the time - he had just gotten done with work and was looking for an escape - though his boredom was barely satiated with - what was to him - meaningless media.

A few paragraphs about the recent state in Penacony...an article here and there about a famous new drink in store...an interview with the Trailblazer... The wings neighboring his ears fluttered agitatedly.

Sunday flinched a little at the sudden noise of his door opening, being interrupted from his mild daze and also not having expected any visitors this late. He turned to look at his bedroom door for the source of the noise, his wings calming down.