“Tired of your 9 to 5, never-ending job?”

That phrase is going to live rent-free for the rest of the week. Why is she memorising the company motto now? It’s only the butt-cracking dawn. Too sharp. The enveloping air is too bloody thick for a golden sunshine of light. Rightfully… Too early to lose sanity’s energy now, isn’t it? Or maybe the mornings are starting to get really boring.

Exhaustive to even roll from the cotton woven bedding, the sheets call to be wrapped over the minocyclis’ back once again. And yet, she knows better than skipping work ever so easily over just a simple, tedious task of getting out of the soft mattress. Mondays are the start of the week; everyone has to go and make a living even if it’s just so nothing to value off… besides money. Money, profit—that’s what you can look forward to from the job, man. And look on the bright side, she gets the free in-cabin weekly top-ups for coffee; she knows she can’t live without her fucking caffeine intake.

Fine. Get up, one-eye freak.

Heh. She knows that line from anywhere but a compliment, ending by using that insult in her own twisted way of motivation to rise her bum for the day. Stretching up, she groans loudly without a care as she leans in all directions to crack the sore spots of her overly relaxed body. Her joints pop off and back to place as she finally rises and, while doing so, tries to pry her blurry, muddled eye open into clearer vision.

“AAAACCCKKK—”

The apartment bedroom feels less still and matte in silence thanks to her impromptu; the exaggerated yelling definitely breaks that peaceful quiet of the morning for her. Well, it is needed—she hates being in the quiet. It is evident how her room is layered with clear signs of clutter. Not like a hoarder’s mess, rather a stacked arrangement of an assortment of travelling goods she was gifted, round boxed clothes neatly shoved to the corner of her dresser legs for accessibility. And yet, the thing she aims for as she gets her legs wobbling up towards the closet room, reaching in for her lipstick-red uniform. The dress attire matches her golden cape and triangular pin, label embodied with her name on the surface tag readied:

‘Cynida, Cabin Management & Conductor of Forestar Express’.

Just then, another eyeballed head pops through the door, peeking into the room by just a jar of a glimpse as she glances around for the older sibling.

“Can you ever wake up normally, sis?”

“Nope. You know I never, Celina.”

Cynida’s eye squints into a cheeky, narrowed curve as she giggles. Her single eye takes a beat longer to adjust as she stares at her younger twin’s slouch, waddling into the bathroom right up against her personal space to join in the morning rituals of readiness. “Besides, you know better than to question the odd habits by now. It’s a need to start my days, and I plan to keep it such way!”

“Morning to you too, Cyni...” A groan leaves Celina’s slouching body, rolling her pupil a whole angle before twisting the faucet knob a turn. The tap water now runs freely down a rush as she scoops her hands for a puddle to splash on her fogged face. The idea of twins being close together even at their big age is endearing, though it is a little close for usual groggy comfort with how clingy the sisters are being this early of a morn.

“You are quite clingy today, Celi.”

“You will be away for a whole two weeks. Of course, I'll be close as much as I can.”

“You just want someone to make breakfast and dinners for you, right?!”

“Ehe.” Chuckles fill the bathroom space as Celina shuts her eye, her contagious laughter kicking the tickles into Cynida even while she gets caught guilty. There’s no denying doubt that she wants Cynida around for her aid in clean up and chores, but full honesty: she does not wish to have her sister far from home. She would be on her own, alone and empty, with nothing better to do other than drink decaffeinated leaf juice and watch reality trash telly. Not that she couldn't do it on her own. It's just better having someone else familiar for company.

Cynida is infectious for company, after all.

“Relax, you are a legally able body and capable of most things. And then again, there's always your little girlfriend!” That earns a splash of water to Cynida’s face from Celina’s now-empty water cup. The older sibling hounding into howling cackles as she watches the young twin turn bashful shades of reds and pinks, her eyelid fluttering into a fury of embarrassed rage, and her fist veins clenched with trembling flushness from the mere teasing to mention her crush Tiffany, Cynida's referred tailor from one of her colleagues.

“Well, excuse me for having an infuriatingly… strong infatuation for someone!”

That earns Cynida’s loud cackles at this sentiment, and another loud splash directed toward her face. Fortunately, her arm was in the way, deliberate and quick to react as she lifted to block off the splatter to not let ruin her perfectly drawn eyeliner and brushed out hair this easily. At the rate of teasing her sister, Celina would have to count how long her sister could be waterboarded in drenched soaks. Not that she would mind. Breathing through the skin of many kinds of worse fluidic substances, this isn't the worst to deal with.

“Oh, quit your water bursts, or we will never get dressed dry for work on time, Celi!”

The sound of a morning caffeinated brew could really go a whole mile for the twins now. After all that aggressive cosmetical applications of mascara to blusher, the curling of their hair to root their hair shape in place, and the smoothing out of their attire wrinkles.

They really need that boost for the day right about now, or someone’s about to be in a bloody mood. But thankfully, there are options at the main pantry areas of their own sectors, and the emergency bottled caffeine in the home fridge. Cold brew goodness, or as the twins call it: Monday’s default saviour.

The metallic caps emit a harmonious crack as they collide with one another, producing a crisp tink that reverberates through the air. As both individuals indulge in the restorative elixir, a chorus of sighs fills the room—a testament to their justified, perhaps solemn, relief. The modest refreshment serves as a catalyst, propelling them toward the protracted odyssey of office duties that lies ahead.

Slumping over the countertop, the older cycloptic lady eyes her sister with a pointed look, watching Celina measure spoonful after scoop the powdered pancake mix into the water-filled squeeze bottle.

“Why do you even bother measuring? Just toss it all in, it’s mix.” Cynida narrows her eyelid, rolling around the sliced butter in the pan, coating it with its grease and fatty layer.

Celina rolls her eye, sighing. “Because if we want to survive this long week working at the Express, I’d rather not burn the first meal of the day and fumble the mood to fucks.”

Cynida laughs at this sentiment, spinning the spatula in her other hand like a wand that points to Celina with amused play, whilst she holds out the pan for Celina to squeeze the liquid batter into. “HA! I love you, really I do, Celi! But one day, you’ll understand the whole eyeballing and forget the measurements.”

Celina muttered as she squishes the bottle, unleashing a glob of uncooked pancake gloop onto the pan. “Or curse you for making me do all the calculating work, the last time you eyeballed, we jacked up the apartment in ashy soot…”

The metallic hiss of the pan was punctuated by a clink, resting to cook over the amber heat on the stove counter, steaming flavours like a mini star in their cramped kitchen. Both softly inhaled the scent in unison as they watched the dough form its own solid union into a circular form of foodie perfection.

As all knows: Breakfast is like a ritual, somehow a necessity, but mostly, comfort.

When the dishes drop off into the empty washer, alas comes the time for the pair to hurry along and get their act together for the day ahead of them.

Heels, boots, cape, coat, luggage, baggage? Things of this kind, one needs to be prepared for the overnight business to partake in. Or, well, for Cynida’s line of work, an over-galactic work trip. Wait, did she remember to bring her motion sickness medication? Yes, she did.

“Where would the train be headed?” Enquiring, the younger twin’s voice echoes far and closes into her older sister’s proximity as she walks out, perfumed for the day and all fully suited with her hand carry bag brought out and settled at the foyer’s cushioned bench. Cynida thoughtfully— at least she looked so— thinks for a little, zipping up her eye-colour-matching go-go boots, the lighter purple shimmers glinting off from her heels like the rims of both twin’s eye pupils.

“YOUCH!”

“You ought soon to get kicked in the eyeball next time.”

“You are something else, sis! So, moving fro’, we will also be passing by Pounaneil, Xenazo… Queeweb… There is a hell of a number, hell, should I know? It’s two weeks' worth of travels to pick up, drop off, stocks, passengers—list varies on the variant and varieties!”

The older minocyclis, vexed by the labyrinth of thoughts, crosses her arms with a manifest display of frustration. To require the retention of even a solitary detail so early in the day is, indeed, an undue source of stress. Maybe her using a tease was to delay the inevitable tightness Cynida puts her overstressed thoughts into when spiraling. And yet, with an inherent wisdom, she acknowledges and embraces her own essence, resolutely refraining from allowing any further emotional outbursts to escape her voice. Such is, at the very least, her preferred modus operandi.

“Hey, sis.” A hand reaches out to the older, much infuriated twin as the younger twin leans side-on-shoulders in reassurance. “Hail, puff your lungs in… air goes out. I get it, two weeks’ route. That’s all needed, thanks.”

Guidance follows as Cynida inhales, imbuing her lungs with healthy doses of calm to invigorate the organs with fresh oxygen before exhaling it all out in a slow heave of languorous repose, her back arched into a reclined position against the bar stool’s support.

“Much obliged… Much, sis.” Her voice, appreciative of Celina’s attempt at mentally ‘slapping’ in the needed emotional rationality to her vessel, croaks in a more tranquil state. Cynida exhales once again as she sits herself front and proper. “Fuck, I believe right about now is high time we make our way to the public station, right?”

“Oh shit, we really should do so.”