It's 1am and Monroe can't sleep.
He always had trouble sleeping, it's a Blutbad thing; his inner wolf rages to run at night. Sleeping is always a battle, not so much in summer when the days are warmer and his natural instincts tell him to sleep until it cools down. But these cold winter nights make him feel alive.
It's 2am and Rosalee Calvert can't sleep.
She never has trouble sleeping; it's a learned habit from years of routine. Maybe moving to the busy streets of Portland was a bad idea, she couldn't not hear the sounds of feet in the rooms above her, the rumble of cars outside, and the air breaks being released as the 202 bus rumbled back to the depot.
It's 3am and Monroe can't sleep.
He's tried everything this passed hour; counting clouds (because he didn't like to think of leaping sheep and their meat), reciting bauch, pacing his room and drinking warm milk. Each effort failed, leaving him no choice but to grab his keys and wonder the streets in search of a solitude beyond his mind.
It's 4am and Rosalee Calvert can't sleep.
She's pacing back and forth in her room now, hands in pocket and she releases a deep sigh every 3 or so steps. She doesn't like not being able to sleep. It's a torturous event. She turns the faucet in the shower, allowing the steam to build before she submerges herself.
It's 5am and Monroe can't sleep.
He's seated in an eco cafe, hidden in a corner where the waiter will ignore him. All he wants is a hot brandy and a mallet to whack himself into a coma; but eco cafe's don't sell hot brandy at 5am, and he didn't think they sold mallets either. The streets outside were beginning to liven; he could see the lights slowly flickering on in the depot across the street and an occasional milk truck ambled by. He sipped his americano; it tasted awful.
It's 6am and Rosalee Calvert can't sleep.
She's strung her bag around her shoulder, buttoned her striped cardigan and headed for the eco cafe around the corner. She liked cafes; they left her feeling romantic and powerful, like she could nestle herself into a corner and observe the world unseen.
It's 7am and Monroe doesn't want to sleep.
He'd long since finished his americano and washed it down with a green tea that tasted awful too. As he'd gotten up to leave, having become overly aware of just how long he'd been lurking in that corner, he'd bumped into a young woman, knocking her tea to the floor.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" he sputtered, swatting the air around her in an attempt to protect her from the hot drink. "Here let me-"
"I've got it. I've got it," she smiled, bending to the floor with him to retrieve the cup.
They rose together and she started. "Monroe?" she asked. "Monroe from the spice shop?"
"Hey! Yeah,it's me. Rosalee, right?" She was smaller than him, pretty and held an aura of serenity about her. "Let me buy you another," he insisted, taking the paper cup from her hands.
It's 7am and Rosalee Calvert doesn't want to sleep.
They sat together in a corner of the cafe, he'd let her take the inner seat to watch the world as it came to life outside the window. He was witty, intelligent and spoke at times with a slight German twang – she couldn't help admire him.
Maybe settling in Portland wasn't such a bad idea after all.
It's 8am and neither of them want to sleep.
I hope all you Grimmlins are well today :) Happy writing.