Everyone Keeps Secrets

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by XWhySoSeriousX, Oct 7, 2015.

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  1. Adalicia Biancardi
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    'Mi Estrella, Despartar a mi pequeña estrella' it was a soft lull, a lullaby that she hadn't heard in what seemed like forever. But when she jolted awake only seeing the frightened flight attendant, Adalicia sighed softly apologizing to the ginger woman. Ada grabbed her bags from the little cubby she had held them in and walked off the airplane without another word. "So this is the great Virginia" she mumbled softly to herself as she walked through the over crowded and too loud airport holding her bags close to her. She hadn't expected to much from the boring state, but what she had been granted was a once in a lifetime chance.
    ~
    It hadn't taken her long to pull up to the heavily guarded facility, but once she had her childish excitement began to pick up as she stepped out of the car they had sent for her thanking the driver while also giving him a small tip. This was her once in a lifetime chance so she couldn't be seen as weak to these people, since these people were going to be essentially teaching her everything she needed to learn, and showing fear was no option. Taking a deep breath, She breathed out and rolled her bags into the building so that she could finally get moved in.

    This was going to be her life for however many years she needed to train, she was going to be sharing this place wth nine other people who wanted the same thing as her. To survive where others can't. Not everyone can become an FBI agent and people who want to do it don't want to actually train for it. Well her and nine others were packing up their lives and moving into this secured building to do just that.

    Ada pulled her glasses off her face and folded them sticking them in her shirt as she smiled softly at the woman who worked the counter in the front. In the letter they had told her to visit this place first before she went around and explored the premises.
    "Hi I'm recruit eight Adalicia Biancardi and I was told to come here to collect my room key, and also get my fingerprint scammed yada yada" she said figuring that the older woman had gotten what she was trying to get at. The woman had smiled at her handing her a paper to sign, an ink pad to mark her finger print on, and finally her room key, room, and schedule.

    Adalicia found herself roaming the halls trying to find out where exactly this room was. It was a huge building and it was definitely something she wasn't used to. She had beefed up passing the gym and indoors pool before she had actually found out where her room was. It was a nice little place with two beds and a nice bathroom. Ada set her bags in the bed she was going to take since she hadn't seen any sign her room mate yet then started to unpack so that she could spend the rest of the day exploring until they rounded the others all together and formally showed us around the school. Ada found herself walked back outside and looking at her door with a small smile on her face.

    "Room 612, Quantico you better watch out...you haven't even seen the best of me yet" her voice was almost silent as she spoke to herself then went back in her room softly closing the door.
     
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  2. [​IMG]

    Just yesterday, Magenta was in beautiful Paris, shopping and talking with beautiful people. Now she was arriving in Virginia. When people first look at Magenta, they see a pretty face with a killer body. They never see how smart and strong she really is, she uses that to her advantage most of the time. Women have always used the skill of being pretty and acting like they have no brain... when in the background they are the ones running the show, and they never get the blood on their hands. That's what Magenta is all about, getting the rewards with none of the bad effects that came with them.

    As the car that was sent to pick her up made it towards the entrance of The Quantico Base, Magenta took out her phone. She didn't have a lot of people to contact, but the ones she did, she told them that she would be going off the grid... to "find" herself, so they should not call her or try to get in contact with her. She didn't need her friends and father in her business, more than usual. She hopped out of the car, thanking the man and giving him a very grand tip. "Thank you, you have a nice day." She smiled at him, before walking into the building.

    Some of the men in the building went over to help Magenta with her bags... the perks of being her, she guessed. She took out the letter from her purse, it stated that she needed to speak with the lady at the front desk. She scanned the building, and than she found who she was looking floor. She walked up to the kind looking lady. "Hi, I'm Magenta Stellar. I guess I have to talk to you?" The lady smiled at her, telling her to scan her finger. After doing that, she was given her keys and room number. "Thank you." While the boys wanted to help her bring her bags to her room, she decided that they shouldn't enter her room on the first day. She waved the boys goodbye, as she went towards the elevator.

    While in the elevator, she thought of everything that had happened in her life... the things that led her to this day. Magenta has had a very tragic and horrible life, but she has made something of herself, and she is proud of that. She started fixing up her hair, maybe she would meet some of the others soon. She wondered what they were like, and would they like her? At first they might, but then when they found out how she acts... they might not like her ways, but Survival Of The Fittest and all. Once she heard the DING! of the elevator, she took a deep breath and released it. "Here we go."

    She looked at the paper again, she was in Room 610. With her multiple bags of luggage, she went to her door. She unlocked it and stepped in. It was a basic room, and it looked like no one was in there. "Guess I got here first, maybe." She shook her head, and closed the door behind her. She sat her bags on the right side of the room. She then took off her coat, throwing it on the chair in the corner of the room. Magenta took a minute to relax and let everything sink in. She then went into her luggage and pulled out a picture of her and her sister. Magenta's sister had died last year from a drug overdose, as she looked at the picture, a tear fell from her eye. Wiping it away, she sat the picture on the dresser nearest to her bed. "Well, I'm here and I will make it... I won't let anyone get in my way." She smiled and started unpacking.

    Location: Room 610 (Her Room)
    Mood: Excited-Nervous-Sad-Determined
    Outfit: Look
    Interaction(s): No One
    Mentioned: No One
    Tagged: No One
     
  3. [​IMG]
    * Luke Levy Lockwood *

    Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz.

    Luke groaned, fishing his elusive phone from his pocket. He sat up slowly as his fingers finally grasped the rubber casing, lifting it out. Fumbling with it for a second, he eventually got it upright and managed to press the little green answer button. He holds it up to his ear as he rolls and stretches his cramped limbs. Maybe catching up on my sleep in a car wasn't such a good idea. Is all he has time to think before the person on the other end of the line starts blowing up his phone.

    "Luke? Luke, man, did you get there safely? Is it cool? I bet it's supppppper cool, isn't it, isn't it?" A voice interrogates him from the other end.

    Luke shakes his head, smiling slightly. He figured this call would be coming soon. The boy, Stix, was his best friend back home. He was also a way too protective and curious in Luke's opinion. The guy was a nut, always calling to demand where he was and what he was doing. That was the reason Luke loved the guy. He had told him that he was going to a really fancy private school to learn more n business... it wasn't a complete lie but it had still hurt to have to tell him that.

    "Yeah, Stix, it's really cool man," Luke replies as he glances at the passing scenery. He had done a little research on Virginia, he hadn't really found anything all too important. Just that it was named after some English queen named Elizabeth who never married nor had any children. Hence the 'virgin' part.

    "Oh man, you're so lucky dude. If I could get out of this hell hole I'd do it in a second," Stix says, talking so fast that Luke has to take a few seconds to mentally process what it was that his friend was saying.

    "Yeah, I guess I am," Luke says, a little more quietly than normal. It was the truth, after all. Stix and his family had lived in a place that some of the higher class people referred to as 'the hood.' Of course, this was completely derogatory and stereotypical... well, mostly anyway. But if you got a chance to get out of there, you took it. You had to if you wanted to make something of your life. Luke continues to stare out the window for a few seconds before noticing that they were pulling up to a large building. "Well, Stix, I gotta cut loose. I need to unpack and everything."

    "Right, right. Of course. Don't forget to send me pictures! Oh, and don't forget to keep boxing man, you're good at it. Oh! And if you-"

    Luke ends the call before he can ramble further. He had already heard it all from his chatty friend, and there was a lot to hear. He pockets his cell phone as the car rumbles to a stop. Stepping out of the cramped car for the first time in hours, he stretches his limbs, hearing various popping and cracking noises. As the driver pulls his baggage from the pack seat, Luke digs a twenty out of his pocket. A small tip for driving him all this way, most likely, but he figured that whoever sent him the letter would be paying him as well. The driver and him exchange items, and he pulls the handle out of his suit case to make it easier to pull.

    And so he began the walk to the front doors of the building, growing more excited with each step. He knew that he should probably remain calm and collected and, well, mature, but he couldn't help it. This was honestly the nicest building he had ever seen in his life. He gazed at the modern architecture with awe and excitement. The building intimidated him slightly, and now, as he looked down at his slightly better than casual outfit, he felt that maybe he wasn't the type of guy they wanted around here. No. I'm just as good as all the other recruits. Besides, they aren't judging us by our clothing choices, it's by out level of intellect and combat skills. Both of which I have. He reminds himself in an attempt to force the bad thoughts from entering his mind once more.

    He wished he still had the letter. For now as he entered the enormous building, he didn't know what was the front desk. He looked around, spotting a girl just leaving a desk with men trailing her, drool practically running down their chins. A streak of luck, perhaps. If she's a recruit then that must be the desk. He concludes, nodding to himself as he walks over to the desk the girl had just left. There he finds an older woman, and he gives her a large smile. Despite coming from a neighborhood that people probably went the long way to avoid, his mother had somehow managed to teach him the importance of manners and being a gentlemen. With the ladies, at least. "Hello there, ma'am. I'm one of the new recruits, and, uh, I think this is where I go?"

    The woman returns his smile, pushing a device that Luke did not know towards him. She turned back to her work then, expecting him to know what to do. His mouth falls open slightly as he picks up the machine, turning it over in his hands and examining it. He turns back to the lady, who was now staring at him with an amused smile. She then proceeds to explain to him how to use it, and after several failed attempts, she grasps his wrist and does it for him. Luke bites his lip in complete embarrassment. Great way to start of your career, Luke. He mentally scolds himself as he accepts the room keys, turning and quickly shuffling out of that room. He approaches the elevator, finally something he had actually used, and presses the little arrow to go up. As he waits, he examines his key card. Seeing that he was in room 608. "Alright, easy enough," he murmurs to himself as the elevator dings and the doors open. He steps into the empty compartment, waiting once more as the doors closed and he started his ascent. The ride was a short one, and the doors repeated their process. He stares out the entrance, inhaling deeply before stepping out. He walks down a single hallway until he arrives at a door marked 608. Inserting his key card, which he had never done but seemed pretty straight forward, he heard a click soon enough.

    Pushing open the door, his eyes widen in surprise. The room was huge, and so fancy! It was easily the nicest room he had ever had the pleasure of being in. He couldn't believe that he only had to share this with only one other person. He grins with delight as he dumps his bag on the nearest bed. He looks around the room, his grin widening further. "Oh man, Luke Levy Lockwood, you've really outdone yourself this time."
     
    #3 Step6543, Oct 8, 2015
    Last edited: Oct 8, 2015
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  4. Raymond Martin Weiss
    The car that eases into the crowded lot has a flat look to it, its old rubber wheels spraying fine licks of gravel and its engines fumbling; cutting quickly short when it at last stops. The hood is dipped inward and curves around a pair of old-fashioned headlights. It’s an older vehicle, little known, and the minute details to its body attempt to emulate a brand of car that is perhaps more complex in design than the aging, sniffling machine actually is.

    Rivulets of light emanate from the sun of mid-day and bend and break against the car’s dark coat of paint - dancing, funhouse reflections. The exterior of the vehicle deceptively hints toward a similarly solemn interior furnishing, but the carpet, the seats, the windows of the car are a bright color of grey. Unstapled sheets of paper sit askew in the oft-occupied passenger’s seat and Raymond takes these first. His mind is a fluttery, flippant thing, the feelings in his chest even worse off. Despite the many volumes of knowledge he can contain regarding the inner workings of people, the mere idea of not misplacing paperwork has evaded him a criminal number of times.

    He holds these sheets to his chest, even wrinkles them as he leaves the front seat, not trusting himself to move them from their position. A mass of suitcases and bags - four in total, but they resemble a mountain of sleeping animals all piled one on top of the other - threatens to avalanche from the trunk upon his opening it. Sprawling within his mind is the glow of headlights and the streaks of traffic, all claustrophobic, all swarming, and he dares his mind to recall, for a moment, the number of times he’d rolled the window lower to light a smoke.

    The odor of cigarettes taints the vehicle, he believes. Only on the road would he open the windows. When stopped at a station or a diner or beneath the crimson wash of a dreaded red light, up the windows would slide. He feared the eyes of others; didn’t care to concern himself with the burdensome thoughts of what they might make of him upon discovering this vice. Of course, he concerned himself with this anyways. Heavily.

    Somewhat out of disgust with himself and somewhat from exhaustion, he takes a single suitcase from the trunk and slams the trunk, leaving the shuddering box of cigarette cartons behind.

    Following the drive, a hint of a frown colors his face and droops his eyes, weighting his smile when he passes people in the lot. He holds the heavy case over his shoulders, hooking his fingers around the handle and hearing the contents shuffle. Entering the building, he realizes he’s forgotten what the suitcase carries. It’s a good chance they’re photographs of himself laughing with friends; pictures of family; images he’s drawn with light fingers.

    The lights of Quantico intrude upon him just as the sun had. Polite voices; heavy colors; stark, hollow sound. The secretary tells a joke - funny lady - and the giggle he emits is somewhat wry, though she compliments his grin and remarks that she can tell they’re going to become friends. He hands over the papers and receives a card key in return - one with the numbers “5-1-9”.

    He turns from her and the grin is gone. He doubts he can remember the information she’d given him, but he can follow the directions pasted to the walls. Soreness scorches his joints and pains his back. He takes the elevator, and, despite the thoughts polluting his head, smiles at the woman who joins him until she’s gone. He’s on his own. The elevator soars up. His chest feels hollow.

    Somewhere around here is the door behind which he’ll be making his home. He wanders a bit, pondering door numbers, attempting to make himself scarce, and the suitcase rattles once more. His mind’s eye pictures the colors of pencil-drawn autumn leaves blending and fading beneath the friction of the suitcase’s contents, and for a trembling instant, he sees the photos and drawings being ripped and decimated in the bag. Somewhere remote inside his thoughts, he asks himself why his mind would do this to him and his thoughts respond with a defiant, rather humorous ‘why not?’

    Such are the trials of an overactive brain.

    When he finds 519, he drops the bag in front of him, breaks it open, catches his breath. Stooped to a knee, he rummages with careful hands through - clothing. Tangled; jerked out of place. The bundles of cloth sit in knots within the suitcase, wrinkled yet secure in their chaotic mess of cotton.

    Exhaustion, displeasure, something frenetic - they color his motions and paint his face a multitude of sullen shades as he slides the card key. The darkness past the door into the room, thick and bold like strokes of ebony paint consuming a delicate work of art, halts the hand which pulls the cold door open. This color of darkness in the room is too complete. It erupts across the room not in pools of shadows but in a watery thickness - a saturated texture and presence thick enough to entertain Raymond’s brief thought that his reflection is there before him, peering back.

    It knocks on the shell of his mind; reaches a hand inside; pulls him into the real world for an instant. The gravity of his rushed decision to join Quantico hadn’t fully cemented, and if someone were to learn him well enough, they would doubt that it ever would. The shadows of the room bleed like spilled ink onto the tile in the hall and kiss the tips of his shoes. Raymond’s eyes are heavy with dark bags. He flips the light once, twice, and darkness remains consuming the room until he tries it once more and illumination shudders into place.

    Bare walls. Short beds. It’s all he can really see or care to think about.

    He deposits his suitcase on the left bed and leaves the door ajar in favor of collapsing onto the mattress. Curling his fingers in his thick hair, he lets the images of hours of traffic filter through his mind, fatigue coating him like a sloppy, dripping mess. The suitcase is unzipped like a grin. A mess of white and blue and brown clothing is slopped into the center of it. He pulls a lighter from an inside pocket; wields a cigarette in his opposite hand. Smoke drifts from the tip of the stick between his fingers, and he breathes a drag that fills his lungs, darkens his vision, and dulls the burn in his joints.

    Light spills in from the open door. Pooling into the room is the bitter scent of the cigarette which he almost didn’t notice he lit - not until his gaze brushed over the light of the open threshold. Guilt tears through his stomach in wild twists. He lifts himself to his feet and places his hand on the cold knob, pushing the door shut. In this instant, his mind registers a quick shuffle; a thud. The door refuses to close beneath his pressure, and Raymond pulls the cigarette from his lips, his feet instinctively moving backward as someone enters through the gap in the door. Something guts him like a blade. Anxiety; vulnerability. Like stone, it throws itself atop the guilt, and he sees the image of himself sitting in the car, smoking a cigarette with the windows rolled up, his face hidden, his shame dismissed.

    Funny - all he can feel now is shame.

    @Spectre of the Fade
     
    #4 Olio, Oct 8, 2015
    Last edited: Oct 9, 2015
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  5. Dean Cortell
    Location: Room 519 (His and Raymond's room)
    Mood: Exhausted, Optimistic
    Mentioned: @Olio


    Dean had been feeling optimistic rather than nervous, the night he was to head to the Academy. He was going to take this training program and he was going to kick its ass. Sure, the one AM flight was inconvenient as all hell, but the flight itself wasn't going to be that long and he'd get to catch a couple hours sleep on the drive from Richmond to the Academy. He was showered and dressed up in a neat suit before eight PM; his mother expressed her absolute joy at his choice of occupation and insisted on at least driving him to the airport. Dean arrived at the Detroit Metro Airport a bit before ten o'clock at night in a bright mood, figuring three hours to be plenty of time to get through security and perhaps get some food before getting on his plane.

    He was wrong. He was so very wrong.

    First, his seat in first class had ended up being double booked. Then a seat opened up in Economy (Dean was perfectly fine with that; the desk clerk was an insulting degree of surprised at his cool acceptance of the change in circumstances), then apparently there had been a mistake or something, because his seat in first class was still available, but apparently that was a mistake too and and and and.

    The plane ended up delayed until almost three in the morning, he'd barely been able to board in time due to the seating conflicts and was sat in Economy, and by the time he sat down he was already exhausted. The nap was supposed to be short, supposed to last until the plane took off and not any longer, but he slept almost the entire plane ride. And that last bit was easily the most disappointing out of all of it; Dean loved the view from planes, and seeing the lights of the cities and towns laid out below the plane would have made his entire morning. But he wasn't awake for it. One of the flight attendants had to gently wake him up just before the plane landed at almost six AM, much to his embarrassment and irritation.


    The drive from Richmond to Quantico was equally frustrating. One of the more useful skills he'd learned in college was the ability to fall asleep nearly anywhere, from a couch to a floor to the backseat of a moving vehicle. His brain decided that he had slept enough on the plane, however, thoughts about what this training would entail and what the other trainees would be like running through his mind too quickly for relaxation to be possible. To make matters worse, the driver ignored his many attempts at conversation. Dean ended up spending the two hour car ride with his head in his hand, staring out the window at the boring scenery, lost in his thoughts. Some might call that relaxing. Dean was not one of them.

    Finally arriving at the Academy was a relief, as well as an impressive sight. Finding a way up onto that roof was made one of Dean's priorities almost immediately after he saw the building. The view would be awesome.


    He collected his luggage (one and a half suitcases for clothes, half a suitcase for the few knick knacks he couldn't bear to part with, a large bag containing actually useful things and his own brand new set of bathroom supplies) and tipped the driver a ten before making his way to the front desk. The lady there was amiable enough, and the two traded enough jokes that Dean was back to feeling optimistic as he headed up the elevator to his room.

    "Room five nineteen," he murmured to himself as he checked out the key card he'd been given. A card lock was a hell of a lot fancier than the locks his dorm at Columbia had. He wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or comforted by the level of security, but his renewed positive attitude regarding this Academy and the FBI training program he was now officially apart of had him decide that it was comforting. He was humming 'Gold on the Ceiling' to himself when the elevator opened out onto his floor, and his attention was immediately caught by the room with the open door. It was his room, coincidentally enough.

    'His' might be the incorrect possessive, however, because who else would leave the door open but his roommate?

    "Hey, I-" Dean began after approaching the door, only to be interrupted by the door beginning to close on him. He instinctively pushed his shoulder against it, letting out a breath of relief when the person on the other side gave up trying to close the door literally in his face. "Relax, man, I'm just your roommate," he said as he nudged the door open again, stepping into the room itself. It was not bad, actually. Beds were small, but he'd worked with smaller. The cigarette in his roommate's hand barely even registered in his head; his mother was quite the smoker herself, and he'd put up with worse and far more illegal habits from a couple of the roommates he'd had in college. What did register was that his roomie was really hot, though. Score.

    Shutting the door with his foot and gently brushing past the guy, he set his luggage on the unoccupied bed- mostly to free up his hands - and turned back to the guy with a tired but genuine smile and an outstretched hand. "Unless one of us got the wrong room. I'm Dean, either way. Dean Cortell. I take it you're here for the FBI training, too?"
     
    #5 Spectre of the Fade, Oct 9, 2015
    Last edited: Oct 27, 2015
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  6. [​IMG]
    Nautica Luna

    Interacted: @Shattered♦Secrets™
    Mentioned: No one
    Room: 610
    Outfit: This

    "Ma'am? Are you alright? We've landed?" The voice of a woman snapped Nautica out of her dream. Sweat dripped down from her forehead and the images of blood and sounds of screams slowly faded from her vision. Her chocolate painted eyes sparkled with life, fear and panic. Just a dream... just a dream. Still, thinking it was a dream wasn't all that helpful. Not when Nica knew the truth. Never a dream, just images of the past the came to haunt her whenever she was mentally weak. It was alright... no one needed to know her past. Because that's what it was. Stuck in the past. Nautica sure as hell wasn't going to be the one bringing it up.

    "Ah, yes... I apologize, thank you for waking me," Nautica blinked back the tears, reaching her arms up into the air and stretched before standing up and following the flight attendant down the path in the airplane before they came upon the opened door and pair of stairs. Nautica took her time coming down and walking into the building. Her long black strands of hair fell down her shoulders in curls, a black pencil skirt that hid her stomach and stopped a few inches above her knees. With a black crop top bustier, the heart shaped top had white crystal beads on it. The black leather jacket she had on earlier in the morning wasn't needed and had been stuffed in large black purse she had with her.

    Maybe she should've worn more comfortable clothes but coming out to Virginia hadn't been the only thing she had to do today. The number of files she had to drop off at the PI company she had been working for as well as a breakfast meeting with a few people who had needed a favor before she left. It was the least she could do when they had put a bit of her mind at ease after the incident.

    It took Nautica about 15 minutes to get to the National Academy of Quantico by taxi, 10 more seconds to gather her 1 black leather backpack, 1 shoulder bag followed by 1 suitcase with wheels. Nautica remembered the map of the entire grounds, thanks to a friend, so she followed the path that led to entrance. Walking in she went straight to the woman that sat behind a desk.

    Given a small nod and smile, the woman pointed to a scanner and Nautica placed her right thumb on it. The cool air in the building and large room was distracting and Nautica's eyes scanned everything while the woman worked. Clean and professional yet Nautica already got the feeling that this was going to be her cage for a while.

    "Here you go, Ms. Luna," The woman's movement caught Nica's attention first and she looked at her quickly; noticing the piece of paper and key in her hand. Nautica gave the woman a nod of her head then turned around and made her way toward the elevator, ignoring the men that tried to make a move to hold her bags for her. They stopped when Nautica gave them a shake of her head, giving them a sharp look of disapproval. Not that she meant to, Nautica had opened her mouth to say "no thank you" but she was to late, the doors to the elevator had closed. So she kept quiet, biting her bottom lip in thought. A loud ding let her know that she had reached her floor. Though her bags were heavy Nica continued to walk at a steady pace until she reached the door to room #610, slipped her key in and opened the door.

    A beautiful woman with long brown hair and an angelic look to her stood inside and Nautica lost thought for a minute. This was going to be a long time and Nica was praying to whatever god was listening that this woman wasn't a bitch.

    "Hi, I'm Nautica. I'm gonna take a guess that we're roommates," The joking tone in Nica's voice was clear, or so Nautica hoped. She was really bad at this whole people person thing now.
     
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  7. [​IMG]
    Raymond Martin Weiss
    The white fluorescent light that trickles in from the hall appears as if it would almost be cold to the touch. It's the sort of illumination that swarms with wide strokes onto the room's shadows, staining the blackness of the dark, wavering in slight shifting motions like the fingertips of a wary beginner on the keys of a piano. It illuminates the grinning suitcase for an instant, and strewn upon the shirts, lid lifted, the carton of cigarettes sits half-obscured by an un-ironed sleeve. When the door pushes wider, the cigarette logo embedded on the box flashes like a medal.

    Raymond registers the sounds of creaking hinges and several footsteps plaguing the air; can feel the warm and fleeting brush of an arm against his shoulder, but these have all become minor noises in the background of a larger picture. He sucks in a breath that tingles on the way down, gelid and uncomfortable, and he wets his lips because behind his ribcage is an unfamiliar heat that expands until he feels full to his very brim. He feels the backs of his legs touch the stout bed and immediately complies with the whisper of an ache in joints, something of a thud making use of the silence when he sits upon the mattress.


    A bitter heaviness of unease hangs in his chest until it scars and scabs and heals inch by inch in the moments following the other person's entrance into the room. Sifting through the shroud of tiredness muddying his head, Raymond doesn't recall being alerted to the inclusion of a roommate at all, but he has a hunch that the words of the secretary - fuzzy and blurred sounds shoved into the back of his memory - had perhaps alluded to it. A pang of wonder protrudes through the weight in his chest and implants wispy, foggy thoughts of open windows and airy grins all shadowed by an exhaustion that eventually steals the imaginations away. Even through the weight, habit urges him to make a smile of his lips - a gesture colored with tired kindness and suffocated with shy reluctance because even now, he keeps his eyes fully off of the other man.

    His roommate's words sound like bells in his ears. The word "relax " is something he takes to heart, feeling the word push a bundle of anxiety from his chest. He loosens his shoulders; softens his gaze which had grown harsh and cold even if it hadn't been facing anything in particular. The slightest giggle parts his lips in a quiet grin that faces the ground. He focuses his eyes on the tips of his shoes and listens to the voice of the other man - the shared exhaustion, the positivity. Pulling the cigarette up to his lips he takes it into his mouth and pulls a drag, feeling the edges of the knives in his stomach rubbing off like dust on the surface of an antique.

    The gleam of the hall is stifled behind the door when the other man nudges it shut. Along with the noise of luggage being set down, the door closing, and feet moving, the guilt travels away. The cigarette casts a red glow into Raymond's brown eyes, wide with curiosity as it inches into his gaze. The stranger introduces himself as Dean in that bell-like voice - a nice name; a privileged, intriguing one - and Raymond ponders the meaning of the name, though in his tiredness, it escapes him. When he scrubs a hand over his face, it's half to cover his smile and half to keep himself from looking - to continue this game of guesses, though curiosity has begun pouring questions into his mind.

    It's only when Raymond drops his hand from his face that he notices Dean's gesture at all, breathing a soft 'oh' as a pinch of embarrassment gasps into his heart. His teeth nick his bottom lip for an instant and he hastily lifts himself, taking Dean's hand; shaking it. Willingly meeting the eyes of the other man, it's a challenge to force himself to look away. He picks up on the manner in which single strands of Dean's light-colored hair catch the light - and immediately pulls his gaze away, his own juvenile nature sullying his smile.

    "One could assume so, yes," he says, the jest in his voice somewhat softened by the exhaustion accompanying it. He messes with the glowing cigarette in his hands, letting his thoughts speak for him, eyes pondering the dying red glow of the stick as it chars the black leaves. (Much to his chagrin, it shows on his face - in his drooped features, his weary expression - that the reason for this lack of eye-contact is the bundle of nerves pooling in his stomach.) "Such a shame it'd be if I had driven here, met you, and was promptly tracked back down and thrown out for being an intruder." He knows the tiredness has done something to him because the first few words that pass his lips contain a bite of unease - something which he tucks away with another fleeting half-drag, really just touching the now-cold stick to his lips and moving it away in a blur before covering up the action with a weary grin. He pushes a hand through his hair, shaking his head with a breathy chuckle. "Of course, that could be exactly what will happen. God only knows."

    A smile, kind, with attentive eyes is the expression that he makes next, and he's not sure what Dean has done that pulls it out of him. "Raymond Weiss," he tells him. It's by chance that his eyes fall upon the carton of cigarettes in the gaping bag, and as if double checking with the other man, he lights himself a second cigarette, taking a short drag, then extends it to Dean without a second thought. It's second nature to him: giving, sharing, whatever word it has adopted nowadays.

    @Spectre of the Fade
     
    #7 Olio, Oct 9, 2015
    Last edited: Oct 10, 2015
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  8. Adam Kane
    manSpecs_1474972c.jpg

    Adam was sitting in the back of a greyhound bus, his hood up and his earbuds in listening to his playlist of classical music as he was lost in his novel. "as the shadow got closer Claudette's heart started beating faster and faster. Her body cobpletely locked up on her as if she was paralysed. her breath was shallow as she pulled the kitchen knife closer to her chest thinking as soon as she see's him she won't hesitate she will attack him before he gets a chance to attack her."

    Adam was suddenly shocked out of his deep trance by a tap on his shoulder. "Excuse me young man, we have stopped." Adam looked up and saw an elderly woman smiling in his face. "oh um thank you." The elderly woman smiled and turned as she started to shuffle off of the grey hound bus. Adam exhaled and looked at his left hand, he was gripping a ballpoint pen suddenly. He looked shocked and then shook his head he put the pen in his pocket and collected his belongings. As Adam got off the bus and collected his luggage he looked around for a cab. He waved one down and got in. "um yes can i please." "YOUR GONNA HAVE TO SPEAK UP SON, I'M HARD OF HEARING" the older cabby shouted pointing to a hearing aid. Adam sank into his chair and repeated. "UM SIR I NEED TO GET TO THE NATIONAL ACADAMEY OF QUANTICO!!!" The cabby smiled "sure thing young man"

    Adam sank into his seat further his face flushed, as the cabby drove singing along to the radio. After a few mins, Adam had arrived. He paid the taxi and bid the driver good bye. Adam looked up at the building, he took in a deep breath and walked inside. Adam walked up to the receptionist and cleared his throat, she ignored him. He did once more this time a little louder, she looked up. "oh hi, can i help you." Adam smiled "yes um i'm Adam Kane im one of the new recruits." She smiled and handed him a key and pointed him in the right direction. Adam thanked her and walked up the stairs.

    Adam made it to the dormitories and saw the other recruits moving in, He suddenly got nervous. "just walk straight to my room and say nothing." Adam pulled his hood up and started walking down the hall, he saw the other recruits, they were all enthusiastic about moving in, as Adam walked by he could feel their eyes being drawn to him. damn i'm drawing attention to myself. Adam finally made it to his room he ppulled the key from his pocket and quickly unlocked the door. he was so nervous his duffel bag fell, the clasps opened as all of Adam's things fell out. "oh damnit, shit. this is just what i need right now." Adam fell to the floor and started to collect all of his belongings.
     

  9. Clarissa Riley Scott Ω 23 Ω Dorm room 612
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    Click here to reference Clarissa.

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    If she so desired Clarissa could blame the lack of sleep she had gotten during her plane ride to Virginia on the baby that simply would not stop crying or on the teenage couple that beside her who would not for the life of them cease their pointless conversations. But, in truth, not sleeping on the plane ride was her decision. She could have just as easily put her headphones in and fell asleep as she could have taken a book out to read, and she had gone with the latter.

    Now, wanting to read was not exactly the reason Clary chose not to sleep, only how she chose to pass the time. In all actuality Clary had a terrible fear of sleeping in a public location, such as a house party or a plane. While she slept the people around her could do anything they pleased to her or go through her personal belongings. This was just not a risk the young brunette was willing to take, and so she avoided falling asleep in public places at all costs.

    Before the plane had even left the ground Clarissa was wrapped up in one of her favorite series, The Hunger Games. It was a common and, in all honestly, not a spectacularly written piece of literature, but Clarissa loved the story. Besides, the final movie of the series was coming out soon, and she just had to reread all the books one more time before she went to see the grand finale. She opened up the first book of the trilogy and began to read:

    When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold...

    By the time the plane lands in Virginia Clarissa is nearly finished with the third book. Because Clary had been an avid reader for several years she had gotten very fast, something she was very proud of. She stowed the book away in her purse, standing to exit along with the other people on the plane. It took an unreasonably long amount of time for her to retrieve her luggage, but almost as soon as her bags were in her possession she was outside, signaling for a taxi.

    Unfortunately, several taxi's passed her up. After the fourth one she was becoming quite annoyed, and began to play with the cross necklace she wore absentmindedly. Clary always had to be doing something with her hands- whether it be twirling her hair, messing with her necklace, or playing with silly putty. It was just a bad habit of hers, one that she didn't even realize she had. Which was why she had made no effort to correct it thus far.

    Finally, a taxi pulled up to the curb in front of her. Her luggage fit with her in the backseat snugly, but she had nothing to complain about there. "Take me to this address, please," She told the taxi driver, handing him a piece of paper with the Qauntico address written neatly in purple ink. She then pulled out the book, ignoring the sudden rambling of the taxi driver. He was trying to make conversation with her, but she wasn't interested. She had better things to do. She picked up right where she had left off, instantly enthralled with the novel in her hands:

    ...But there are much worse games to play.

    As if Clary had taken the time to plan this, she finished the book just as the driver pulled into the Qauntico parking lot. She thanked the driver, paid him with a 20% tip, and then exited the vehicle. She straightened out her grey dress before dropping her phone into one of the pockets. Then, after making sure her black leather jacket and boots were also in order, Clary reached for her black luggage. She had one large suit care with wheels on it, one PINK backpack (which was actually black), her black leather purse, and another smaller duffle bag. Clary tended to over pack whenever taking any kind of trip- better to have everything than to be missing something.

    Once she was in the building Clary located and strode over to the front desk with a confident smile. "Hello, my name is Clarissa Scott. I'm one of the new recruits." The women behind the desk greeted Clary with what seemed like a well-rehearsed speech, and Clary was sure that she must have already repeated her speech several times that day. After filling out some paperwork and taking her fingerprint Clary was handed several items, her key card to her room included.
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    She picked up her duffle bag to make her way to the elevator, jumping when a well dressed gentlemen appeared out of nowhere, offering to help her with her items. "Oh, no thank," Clarissa quickly declined, flashing him a thankful smile. "I'm perfectly capable." She continued to smile until she was past him, and as she pressed the button for the elevator she couldn't help but think, Never trust anyone with your valuables. Especially a stranger.

    After a short elevator ride Clary found herself walking down a hallway, looking for the room that matched the numbers on her card. Room 609... 610... 611... 612. Here it is. With a deep breath Clary inserted her key card and pushed open the door. She walked in to find her roommate already waiting inside. (Adalicia) She was a fairly attractive female with long dark hair. Clary offered her a dimpled smile, and after dropping her bags off beside the empty bed she turned to offer the female her hand. "I'm Clarissa Scott, your roommate," she greeted the other girl, her voice taking on a professional yet friendly tone. "But, you can call me Clary."

    @XWhySoSeriousX
     
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  10. Matthew sat in the back seat of a taxi steadily working away on his laptop he fixed up with some extra hidden attachments. Each of them made the computer more powerful and some of them helped with hacking, using special ports to be able to hide all uses of the computer from most servers leaving him almost traceless. He had been practicing breaking into different software and firewalls through a program of his own design that he could set up different conditions everything would work under. He had set one of the harder difficulties at this time as it was a long time since he set out that morning. He had gotten into some bother and wasn't sure what he could do, he began to slowly think of ideas none of them working as he grew more and more frustrated. He let it rest for a bit putting the laptop into it's case leaving his mind some time to process the problem. Looking up he found that he was at the academy, he checked his phone seeing his was somewhat on time. Once the taxi stopped he paid the driver and headed out towards the main building quickly.

    Matt reached the Main desk quickly enough as he somewhat rushed inside, "Hi, I'm Matthew Brett..." He muttered, the woman behind the desk looked down spotting his name on the list and handed him a key card. He quickly grabbed it and moved on saying, "thanks." He proceeded to wander upstairs to the fifth floor and down the hall to room 508. He spotted a guy outside picking up a few things, awkwardly Matt placed his bags on the ground, "Need any help," he said half heartedly hoping the guy said no.
     
  11. [​IMG]
    Anya Jane Callaghan
    ~26~
    ~Room 612~

    ~Interactions: @XWhySoSeriousX @Brea ~

    Anya tapped her foot in impatience, drawing a breath from the cancerous death lit between her fingertips. Where the hell was the fucking taxi? It was supposed to be there over an hour ago. She hated waiting, and she hated being late. Finally, with the pace of a wounded snail, the annoyingly yellow vehicle swerved around the corner. Its engine struggled with every acceleration, finally coming to a screeching stop in front of the hotel she'd been staying at for the night. She scowled, heaving her single duffel bag into the back seat before climbing in herself.

    "What the hell took you so long? I said 8:00! It's almost 9:30!" The driver shrugged, pulling out before she even had a chance to close the door. Of course she got stuck with a lazy ass driver who didn't know left from right. Despite having a GPS to guide him, he managed to make three wrong turns before finally reaching the correct highway. How stupid could one person be? How was he even qualified to be a taxi driver? Glancing at the clock, she stifled a groan as she realized she was very, very late. The good beds were gone now, no doubt! Maybe she'd be lucky and her roommate was even later than she was...doubtful.

    As the clock struck 10:04, the taxi came to a stuttering stop in front of the magnificent building that turned out to be her destination. "That will be $24.50!" the driver, who spoke with a thick accent, yelled as she tumbled out of the car. "Like hell I'm paying you full fare!" she argued immediately, glaring at him with an expression that could kill. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably before finally deciding to bring the price down by almost 50%. He drove away begrudgingly, flipping her off at the last second.

    Ignoring him, she turned on her heel and walking quickly into the building. The people at the front desk gave her a somewhat strange look as she walked in, cigarette in one hand and duffel that could hardly hold more than a few extra shirts in the other. "Ma'am, this is a non-smoking facility," one lady said sternly. She seemed to be one of the people in charge--at least for a front desk lady. Rolling her eyes, Anya let the cigarette drop to the ground before stomping on it defiantly. The lady pursed her lips but said nothing more of the matter, requesting her name and some form of ID. After providing both, she was given her room number and key card, along with several forms to sign with either signature or thumbprint or both.

    Not even bothering to thank the lady, Anya left the desk hurriedly, ignoring the gentleman that offered to take her bag completely as she boarded the elevator. She didn't have time for this shit, and she most certainly didn't want to listen to people's "hospitality" speeches for any longer than necessary. The ride was short and sweet, and she had no trouble finding her room. To her dismay, both her roommates were already there, exchanging introductions and all that boring stuff. She sighed, tossing her duffel on the last remaining bed in the room, not even bothering to unpack as she collapsed on the thin sheets.

    "The name's Anya. Learn it, use it, hate it...I don't really care."
     
    #11 kimsim12, Oct 25, 2015
    Last edited: Oct 26, 2015
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