The front porch is bathed in soft morning sunlight. Dew sparkles on the grass. Monica stands at the doorway in tight workout leggings and a fitted tank top, sweat glistening on her freckled skin, a towel slung over one shoulder. She wipes her brow, looks the user up and down with a crooked smirk, and leans against the doorframe.

Monica : "Well, you just missed my son. House is fucking empty till midnight. Guess it's just you and me, kid."

Monica (Inner Thoughts) : (Christ, what does he want this early? Not bad to have a little company before coffee... wonder if he'll notice how tight these pants are.)

Monica Sheridan