Today was such a morning for Lisa Loud.
She yawned as she slowly opened her eyes, witnessing the remnants of last night's spectacle. She had concocted a formula that released miniscule crystalline shards in a cloud of luminescent gas, twinkling like stars as it rose to the ceiling. She would have claimed it was for Lily, but it would be a lie to say she didn't make it for herself.
After lying in bed for a brief moment, she casually pushed off her covers, put on her glasses, and walked over to her closet. As she walked, Lisa stole a glance at her baby sister. Lily was sound asleep in her crib, snoring softly. The tiny poindexter smiled softly at the sight. A thought briefly crossed her mind about how much interference and trouble the baby might cause later, but it was promptly put aside.
Taking no more time than was needed, Lisa opened her closet door and grabbed her usual outfit. She did pause a moment while swapping clothes just to briefly feel a perverse sense of liberation in the privacy of her room, but no more than a moment. She carried on with her morning routine. Socks. Shoes. Make the bed. And with that, she was ready to begin the day.
"Perhaps," Lisa thought aloud, "I should take a break from science and enjoy today for what it is."
A few seconds later, she laughed at her own joke and opened the door. Oddly enough, the Loud House was quiet. Lisa hadn't looked at her clock (unusual for her), but she guessed the time to be around half-past six based on the light shining through her window. Relishing in the peacefulness of the hall, she trotted around the corner and down the stairs.
The Living room, Dining room, and Kitchen were equally empty and quiet, and Mom and Dad's door was still closed. It appeared that everybody else in the entire house was in bed sleeping. Not particularly ideal for breakfast, since everything was out of her reach, but Lisa was content with the tradeoff. With the assistance of a stepladder, she retrieved a drink from the freezer she had prepared just for this kind of occasion. It wasn't anything dramatic, just an odd blend of foods that made up the recommended breakfast intake for a child her age. As she started the microwave, there was a sluggish shuffling noise behind her, followed by a lethargic voice.
"Gumrning," Lincoln yawned. He stood in the middle of the kitchen for a moment, looking at her with unfocused eyes. Lisa blinked her own in return. The older boy snapped out of his daze and shuffled over to the fridge.
Lisa rolled her eyes at the beginning of the end of her morning. She wasn't sure who would be next, but odds were that it was someone who would want coffee, and she'd rather not be in the room to smell that particular concoction. She realized it was a bit hypocritical considering her own hobbies, but she wasn't about to apologize for it.
The hypocrisy only became more evident when the microwaved opened and the scent of the drink wafted recoiled as she realized her putrid mistake. Her creation, as it often did, smelled worse than any food she had sniffed, both fresh and rotten. She couldn't imagine herself consuming this rancid concoction as long as she had taste buds and a functioning nose. Considering her courses of action, she opted to slam the microwave door shut and halt the spread of the fetid aroma.
"That... was not milk," Lincoln stated in a muffled voice. Lisa turned towards him. He was now standing in the center of the room clutching a carton of eggs in one hand and his nose in the other. His face bore a horrified and disgusted expression.
"No," Lisa affirmed. "No it was not."
"Was that..." Lincoln faltered. "Was that even food?"
"Yes. Yes it was."
"Well what was it?!"
The four-year-old adjusted her glasses. "It was intended as a liquid meal. It's technically potable but I may have neglected to take palatability into account when preparing this... drink."
"Lisa, I don't... I don't think it worked." He looked back and forth between herself and the microwave with a look of nausea.
"Well obviously not," Lisa mumbled. Her execution had failed miserably, and she knew it. It hurt a bit to have Lincoln point it out repeatedly with an air of disgust.
As if recognizing her discomfort, Lincoln took a deep breath, steeled himself, and placed the eggs on the counter. Without missing a beat, he opened the window, then the microwave, and then threw the cup outside. And just like that, it was over.
"Now," he smiled. "Want an egg?"
Lisa blinked. She was a bit stunned by the sudden decisiveness of her older brother's actions. In one moment he berated her, and in the next instant he solved her problem.
"Sure," she stammered. "Thanks."
"No problem." Lincoln moved the eggs to the stove and resumed his original task.
The small genius sat down on the stepladder and watched him work. It occurred to her that while she nominally accepted her family as relatives, more often than not she tended to think of them as acquaintances instead. Rather than the important aspect of her life as they are, she treated them as something more removed from herself. As a matter of fact, she held similar considerations about most human aspects, especially regarding companionship and personality. She held herself as an objective, almost robotic, pioneer of scientific landscapes, but every so often a bit of her own personality seeped through the cracks. Now was one such time. At the moment, she was just a little girl sitting in the kitchen while her older brother made breakfast.
"Hey, Lisa, are you okay?" Lincoln asked, a worried expression crossing his face. "You look concerned."
Lisa realized her own face was holding a similar expression and relaxed it. She pondered a bit more on her internal reflection before responding.
"I'm perfectly fine," she said. "Thanks, Lincoln."