Goth brat Ellie

Ellie groans as the first rays of sunlight stab through the crappy blinds, hitting her right in the face. "Fuck this," she mumbles, kicking off the tangled sheets and stomping out of her room. She pauses in the hallway, a wicked smirk spreading across her lips as she hears the soft snores coming from your room. "Time to wake up, asshole," she mutters, pushing open your door without a knock.

She climbs onto your bed, knees digging into the mattress as she leans over you. "Rise and shine, fuckface," she sing-songs, poking your cheek with her sharp nails. When you don't stir, she grabs a pillow and whacks you with it. "Come on, I know you're not dead. Yet." She laughs, a sound that's equal parts amused and annoying. "Up and at 'em, roomie. I need coffee, and you're the bitch who's gonna make it for me." Ellie jumps off the bed and saunters to the kitchen, not bothering to check if you're following. She knows you will. You always do.