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The thin rattle of her fingers on the laptop’s keyboard was a constant reminder of her existence to those around her. Though even with that, it was likely you didn’t extend her a second glance. Easy-to-miss: if you had to settle on a single phrase to define her, that would have been it. Though, in your defence, she hardly made an effort otherwise. Her entire person seemed to suggest you [&@%!] off--if you did notice her, please kindly refrain. In fact, at this moment, she was bound up on the inside seat, her bag stacked on the aisle seat despite the availability of perfectly good storage otherwise. Earphones were jammed into her ears just in case someone decided to inform her about it.

Of course, she’d still noticed you. Sort of. That was her problem - her illness. The buzz, as she referred to it, gave her a sense of the presence of others - an incessant feeling that she wasn’t alone. You weren’t a distinct noise - no, no, that could have been useful - just a contributor among many to her [&@%!] existence. The ringing itself was singular, monolithic. It ranged up and down as one passed in and out of its reach.

The constant pre-occupation was a means to beat it: the means to get you the [&@%!] out of her head. Perhaps - subconsciously - it was also why she kept her rattly keyboard, and her earphones hummed with a noise that could be appreciated three seats around: A sort of [&@%!] you to the people who couldn’t help but be in her life, too. Like a million flies you sat around her - but she would buzz the [&@%!] back.

It was something she had given thought too, but not at that moment. Tongue peeking out, bitten through by her left molars, as it tended to be when she concentrated. All focus at that instance turned to the single line of problem code. Coding was a solid distraction. She had been working on the script since she had gotten on the bus, you’d know had you spent any time watching her. Bottom balanced at the edge of the seat, feet pushed against the back of the chair in front. Her knees were propped up as to provide precarious structure to her 1500 dollar laptop. Wobbling with every bump in the road, her right hand gripped it to stop the device from drifting down her thighs and towards her stomach. The other - her left hand, her good hand - dashed across the keypad, delivering her message onto the screen with a competence and thoughtfulness that would have been recognisable to a fellow programmer - but probably wasn’t obvious to a person who’d taken to staring.

But you probably didn’t notice, and almost certainly wouldn’t have spent time staring. The laptop was discreet: black and generic, except for the Shadowrun Returns sticker posted to the back. And her, well, she would have laughed if you’d suggested noticing her. Her off-blonde hair was tied back into a messy ponytail. It hung like old drapes, hopefully covering the worst of the acne on her neck. She’d avoided make-up for the trip, and that thing with her tongue: the poking - an old habit, she didn’t even realise she was doing it, and she’d have bit it off if she did. Davie wasn’t exactly something that got noticed.

Soon the rattling slowed and then came to a halt. That was a sign that the issue was starting to bother her - that she had become so preoccupied with it that she needn’t find distraction in anything else. Normally she would have opened up her favourite search engine - Google Chrome, because she wasn’t a masochist - and researched the solution. That, however, required a broadband connection--something she hadn’t had in 3 hours and 12 minutes (yes, she had been counting). So, she was stuck with entering random combinations that felt right. To begin her entries had been rapid, but that pace had soon began to slow and, yeah, that grinding halt.

It was frustrating the [&@%!] out of her, needless to say.

That silence continued - and for the longest time since she had stepped onto the bus, her hands were unmoving. More time passed. But then it hit, and hit with a smile. The rattling renewed. Lips parted to exhibit some expensive dental work to those around her. In that moment, a small, but realisable amount of skin bunched up beneath her chin, creating that slight impression of a double-chin. Not an impression that an onlooker might notice, but enough to grab her immediate attention. Her mouth clamped shut, and the smile was extinguished. One hand unconsciously rose as if to scratch out the bunched skin, she resisted the urge to pass her gaze about the bus and check if anyone was staring.

Having not been called chubby since she was eight never quite did matter.

She counted to five. Her concentration was coerced back to her script and with the correct syntax already entered, she decided to run the program again from the start. The machine whirred, promisingly. And then the bump hit. She jumped, and the laptop jumped with her, managing an air-time Tony Hawke might have been proud of. She might have even appreciated it had it not concluded with her laptop falling, and hitting the bus floor with a clatter.

“[&@%!].”

It escaped her lips before she'd even the time to consider it. The swear(s) were muttered in a perfectly enunciated, north western accent, vowel-shift and all. It kept to her usual style of swearing, being just one long word, as opposed to the [&@%!] being [&@%!] [&@%!]. But they were muttered a bit louder than she had intended, as one does when one has earphones in. Perhaps audible to all those a seat around, a slight pink rose to her cheeks on realising. And it only deepened as she reached down to scoop up her laptop. She rose next. And bit her lip, nervously. Then took a breath.

She could handle this. She'd be cool here. Confidence was cool, totally-smotally. She muttered that last bit out loud, too. [&@%!]: [&@%!]. Who even says "totally-smotally"? What kind of [&@%!] word was that?

That wasn't a question she answered. She hastily pressed the laptop back into her lap. The screen was still bright--her program had worked. Cause for minor celebration. But she was too busy trying to suck the red out of her cheeks. Too, too busy.

More than anything June felt alone. Loneliness had been almost her constant emotion since she left L.A. But she wasn't crying anymore, so she'd consider that much a plus.

June was lying across her seat. Her punk jacket up against the window and her head resting on it. The front of her black patrol cap was covering her eyes slightly, red earphones ran from her ears to the pockets of 3/4 length green cargo pants. She was wearing a black and white t-shirt, it was displaying the cover of Unknown Pleasures by Joy Division. It was faded, like the majority of her clothes the shirt was from a thrift shop. On her feet were black boots. The song that was playing was relatively quiet compared to the majority of her "Punk Playlist" that totalled well over a hundreds of songs. It meant she was just about able to hear the driver talking to them. The playlist was currently set to random, but she found it kinda fitting that it settled such a downer.

'Never know til it's gone.' June mouthed along with the song playing on her phone just before hitting the bump. She exhaled in a huff of air and moved about in her seat, trying to settle once more. Raising her gaze she looked for a little bit, at the ground, her seat and at the girl sitting directly across from her.

Willa sat silently, one earbud in her right ear, one laying loose in her lap. Her lap also held a temporarily abandoned ball of yarn and crocheting hook, held gently in place by the girl's hands. The feathers on her earrings swayed with the swaying of the bus, as she stared out the window at the cool green landscape gliding by. She hoped that it would warm up before too long; snow was nice, but warm breezes and sunshine made for better picnics.

She was pulled from her daze as the noticed her song nearing its end. It was the last song of the album, and she'd only brought so many CDs for her player. This was one of those times she almost wished she was ignorant. iPods were so handy for having all your music with you. She didn't mind so very much, though (suffering was worth it, for safety's sake), and went back to the beginning of the album once it had finished.

After the few seconds it took to take the player out of the satchel at her side and restart the album, she was once again left with nothing much to do. She wished they had chosen to sit further back on the bus; she'd have a better chance of seeing the other people who they were with. Exhaling softly, the girl returned her gaze to the landscape and zoned out.

At the sudden jolt, Willa tensed, then again at the clatter of... whatever it was, that just dropped. It sounded like it came from right behind her, though. She continued listening carefully through her open ear, to see if she could tell what fell. She noticed that the rattling of a keyboard had been replaced with muttered cussing, and assumed the laptop was the victim. At the mention of "totally-smotally", Willa smiled and raised her eyes to catch those of her sister. Totally-smotally. she mouthed silently. This chick seems interesting.

File Under 'animals', 'home', 'cat', 'familiar'... There you are, Mr. Dizzy. Pure black, white nape on the chin, beautiful big eyes that always get bigger when I offer you the last little bit of my sandwich...

Ophelia placed her hand on her mental image of her favorite neighborhood cat from back home in New York. A tuxedo cat, Mr. Dizzy would visit their balcony every afternoon around 3 PM to beg for food, hunt for mice, and take a nap. Dizzy was the most frequent subject of her sketching, but it was easier to draw him when he was actually around. Now she had to settle for her mental imagery. Her memory could recall it perfectly, but it still felt less real. She was on a dingy bus in the middle of nowhere, while Mr. Dizzy would stay in New York where no one could love him as much as she could.

She could have texted Harper to make sure that Mr. Dizzy was taken care of, but she knew how Harper's arrangement turned out. Always so busy working on professional stuff that Ophelia cared nothing about, doting on some perfect-looking stupid guy that matched her perfect-looking stupid face...

Wait... I need to pull up that picture again. Or maybe draw something else. Stop thinking about home. You'll start crying again. Mr. Dizzy is gonna grow up fat and lazy and loved and without you and that's just how it'll be. He probably only liked you for the food. They probably didn't love you either. Of course they didn't. Why else would they send you here? You're the embarrassment. For all their work on the brain they couldn't figure you out, so they had to put you as far away from themselves as possible. You're on your own now. Stop thinking about home. Stop thinking about home. Draw something else.

With a quick, frustrated huff, she ripped the unfinished drawing of Mr. Dizzy out of her sketchbook and crumpled it. The idea of forgetting about her cat (and he was my MY CAT) made tears begin to well up. No matter how loud her jazz playlist blasted from headphones, she couldn't shake the incredibly melancholy feeling. She always hated change and sudden shifts.

Therefore the bump in the road made her audibly yelp like a scared dog. Davie's cursing and the reactions of the others didn't help either. Her sketchbook fell onto the unoccupied portion of her seat, and her headphones fell off of her head fast enough to tug her beanie and glasses off with them, leaving her with a messy head of newly dyed grey hair.

Luckily her glasses didn't fall far. Ophelia gingerly plucked them off of the seat, used her scarf to rub them clean, and looked around to see if anyone was turning attention to her loud yelp of fright.

as she nervously patted at her frizzled hair, and for the first time on the whole bus ride she realized she had zoned out long enough to not notice that she had a neighbor. Ophelia's face froze and her face began to redden.

Amelie Dupont

Amelie had spent a good portion of the journey reading a book, A Wizard of Earthsea; it was an exciting fantasy novel set in a fictional world, the type that Amelie loved. There were so many worlds contained within books that she longed to be a part of herself, worlds where there were all types of people and creatures, and being different wasn't really different at all.

For the past half hour, she had sat simply looking out of the bus' front window. Her sister was currently mostly engaged with her crocheting and listening to music, but the wild scenery kept her engaged enough.
What with growing up and living in the country, seeing the outdoors was a great sense of comfort; it was like a friend was accompanying them to this strange new school full of the unknown. She was typically nervous about the whole situation, but having her twin with her for support always made things okay.

Amelie was wearing a long mid-blue coloured skirt with brown ankle boots underneath. A frilly white gypsy blouse was worn on top, and a warm brown leather belt with a fancy buckle separated the outfit in the middle. A long, fine silver chain hung with a double terminated amethyst crystal around her neck, and matching purple earrings dangled from her ears.
Her coppery brown hair was worn loose, its length, teamed with a thick fringe, providing a frame for her square shaped, freckled face.

As the bus jumped as it ran over a bump, Amelie instinctively grabbed her seat on both sides with her hands. The sound of another thud, and a very rude exclamation, made her turn round to look at the girl in the spot behind them, but she quickly looked back towards the front so that the girl wouldn't think she was being nosey.
Her eye caught that of Willa's as she mouthed a repeat of what they had just heard. She smiled and did a silent chuckle, then listened to the bus driver talking, as she assumed that they were supposed to be paying attention to what he was saying.

Scott Folley

Like many of the other bus riders, Scott was listening to music, his black headphones comfortably nuzzling his ears, blocking out the sounds of the world outside.
He stared out the window as the dull, rural scenery rolled by, hoping that the view would become more populated by people and buildings before they got to where they were going.
He let out an annoyed sigh at the sudden surprise jolt the bus received, but other than that he went back to his depressing brooding.
As floated into his ears, he thought about how miserable he was going to be at this new school. Why had his mom shipped him off here? Yeah, he'd gotten into some trouble, but who cooked dinner for his little brother when she was working late? He did. Who got groceries sometimes when they ran out? He did. They were a family and family were supposed to stick together. I always thought she liked Dylan more than me. Her little baby. Why not kick me off to some remote dump school so you don't have to bother with me.

Scott turned himself around so he was facing the other side of the bus, and put his legs up onto the adjacent seat. He cast a quick glance at a red haired girl sitting in his new line of sight, then shoved his jacket behind his head, to cushion it from the cold, hard window glass. His short legs wore dark denim jeans, his feet: black sneakers, and up top he wore a black t-shirt with one multi-coloured stripe in the very centre, paired with a navy shirt that remained unbuttoned. On his arm was his favourite chunky black wristband, which he now absentmindedly fiddled with as he stared up at the bus ceiling.

Summer Trinos

“Argh, cocksucker!” Summer exclaimed as she was jerked awake by her forehead hitting the window after the bus hit a speed bump. She had been fast asleep since boarding the bus after consuming an entire bag of strawberry flavoured candy. So, this ought to be interesting. The prospect of being educated and having a massive change of scenery intrigued the 18 year old redhead. She was used to the city life. Las Vegas was one of the most lively cities she had ever known, and as lucrative as it could be for some, it would be nice to begin anew. A change from the famous Las Vegas strip where men and woman won or lost their fortunes, to a relatively quiet town. Wonder what this will involve? Best to not engage in fund raising just yet. The pigs haven’t cottoned onto me and I always wanted to get out of the sinful den. She yawned as she surveyed her surroundings out of mild curiosity.

Sure, Vegas was an interesting place to live but for many, it was the end of their road but for a select few, it was a quick way to make a killing and with a bit of hard work, a young woman could easily win. There was nothing better then the thrill of cheating at blackjack, the risk of being caught, the reward being lucrative. Knew I shouldn’t have blown that lot weeks ago. She was very impulsive when it came to her finances. The school would hopefully give her a much needed distraction and if the town was a decent place, a perfect place to set up shop. Wait, this seems a bit…… odd. A random invite to a school that I couldn’t find much info on, a bus and come to think of it, it seems rather iffy. Oh god, it sounds like a trap and I walked willingly into it. She began to feel rather antsy and her body language fully showed it.She started to look around to try to see any signs of the feds being involved whilst rubbing the palm of her left hand over the surface of her right, then her right palm rubbed over her left hand.

Samuel Isaac Ivor-Naturel
Samuel tugged an earbud from his ear. nice to meet you god of death.. could be heard from free headphone as he listened to the driver. His gaze focused on the front as he rubbed his eye and shivered. Cold again.. why am I moving again? Guess they got annoyed with the costs. Space heaters and all that.. he thought to himself before tugging the other bud out of his ear, stopping the music before putting it away. Pulling a book out. A heavy book, Malazan Book of the Fallen, before opening it to read. "Nice to meet you god of death..." he half hummed to himself, continuing the music in his head as he did so.

Hopefully he won't freeze here. He was bundled up enough with a scarf covering his nose and mouth, a beanie covering his hair and heavy jacket and jeans to trap as much of his non existent heat in with his as possible. "Shinigami appear before me.."

June Diaz

A smile came to June's face as the girl sitting across from her started to retrieve her scattered belongings. She turned her head away a couple of seconds after they made eye contact and rubbed the black painted fingernails of her right hand through her dyed red hair.

Ophelia Grey

Once eye contact was broken, Ophelia snapped out of her daze of embarrassment and finished collecting her things. After affixing her beanie back atop her head and fixing her headphones up, she stared at her empty sketchbook page for a moment before furiously beginning a new scribble to occupy herself and shrink into the background of the whole situation.

Willa Dupont

After the short burst of activity that arrived with the bump, the bus returned to relative silence. Amelie didn't seem to be in a very talkative mood at the moment, but now that Willa knew they were almost to the school, she felt restless. As the song she was listening to came to and end, she paused the CD, pulled the earbud from her ear, and pulled herself around so she was kneeling on the seat, looking backwards. Her eyes did a quick sweep of the bus before landing on Davie, right in front of her.

"Hey, is your computer okay? It'd suck if it got smashed on the first day." She smiled before speaking, pointing at the laptop as she talked.

Davie chewed on the inside of her mouth, and lips and tongue. It was all nerves, but how could she not be [&@%!] nervous. She clicked some buttons on her laptop. It was all done idly and added nothing substantial to her code. But at least it added to her code--it worked. Not something she was thinking of right at that moment though. She was thinking about all those eyes. On her. They'd have to be on her. She took a breath and managed a glance to her immediate left towards the kid in the heavy jacket and scarf and hat and that huge [&@%!] book. He wasn't looking at her, which was a good sign. He was weirder anyways right. They'd have to be too busy looking at him instead.

Then, just when she thought she might have avoided detection, someone's face appeared between the cracks of the seats. She caught the eyes settle on her before the mouth started moving. The earplugs were pulled out more in fright than anything else and she managed to catch the end of the sentence. Something about her laptop. She just nodded for a moment, busy trying to figure out what it must have been so she wouldn't respond with something irrelevant, or stupid, or both. It was always both.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm lucky. Yeah. Still working--so far at least." She smiled back, a toothy thing and it made her feel uncomfortable almost instantly.

"I'm, eh. I'm Davie, by the way?" Was that a change of topic. She hoped so. "Davie, yeah." She confirmed her own name, something she realised immediately afterwards probably wasn't normal.

Amelie Dupont

Hearing her sister begin to talk, Amelie turned her head to look at Willa, and then at Davie. She gave a small polite smile incase the girl was to glance her way, then simply listened silently as she watched, averting her eyes to look randomly around them so she didn't appear to be staring.
Oh, she sounds quite nice. Amelie thought, glad that her initial impression that Davie might be hostile and unfriendly wasn't the case.

Willa Dupont

Just by looking at the girl, Willa could tell that she was nervous.

"Hey now, you can chill out. I'm not gonna bite." She let out a short laugh, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "Davie's a groovy name. Mine's Willa, and this's my sister; Amelie." At this, Willa gestured to her right. "Is this your first time at the school? You look kinda old for a Junior."

Amelie

Upon her introduction, Amelie smiled shyly. "Hi."

Davie Schaer

Davie nodded once and then twice and then a third time for good measure. The third time was probably excessive actually. She regretted it pretty quick afterwards but tried not let the feeling linger. Her eyes had darted to the second one at this stage. Twins, she realised, but not quite twins. Fraternal twins! She extended her smile that direction, towards the other girl, as she said her own hello and felt awkward again. They were both really pretty and probably didn't want to see her double chin. So she relaxed the smile.

She turned to making a conscious effort to spread her gaze evenly between the pair but found it drawn more towards the quieter one--there was something comforting about her seeming so nervous, too, it was an easier face to make eye-contact with.

"Sorry I'm just flustered with, you know, the laptop. The laptop fell." Of course, the [&@%!] laptop fell. "But thank you, Willa and Amelia are super-unusual names, too." Was unusual a compliment? She hoped so. She bore that toothy smile again as if to reinforcement she meant it nicely and not, like, meanly.

"And I'm a senior now actually. Final year. Getting ready for the big world, you know." The big world? Maybe if she said something less stupid they wouldn't focus so much on that answer. She tried it. "You guys are Juniors?"

Willa Dupont

Willa was beginning to wonder whether this girl was really just nervous, or actually slightly kooky.

"Super-unusual is how we like to roll, so good for our parents. Maybe if they'd given us different names, we wouldn't be here." She laughed again, light and clear. "A senior? That's cool! We're freshmen, so we've got a ways to go before we make it out. Unfortunately."

Amelie

While Willa laughed at the mention of their parents sending them to the new school, Amelie's face wore a slightly saddened expression. She'd always tried to be less of a daydreamer and more like her parents wanted her to be, but that just wasn't who she was. She felt like she and her sister were being sent to the academy for 'Special Cases' to be cleansed of being themselves. But she liked who she was; she liked who her sister was; she didn't want them to change.
The kids at school always made fun of me though, and if mom and dad think we're strange too, then maybe we are freaks. Having powers isn't normal. I wish I was normal and then I could just be me and not feel like being me was wrong.

Amelie nodded in agreement that they were, indeed, freshmen.

Willa Dupont

Sensing her sister's mood shift next to her, Willa reached out, took her hand, and squeezed gently. While Willa had "moved past" the pain of being estranged so by her parents and many of their peers (perhaps saying that she had buried it would be more accurate), she knew that her sister was a bit more sensitive about the subject, especially after the bullying she'd gone through at school.

Amelie Dupont

Amelie looked at Willa and squeezed her hand in return. She did a silly grin, showing her that everything was fine.

Feeling a bit more confident, Amelie wished to satisfy her curiosity by asking Davie a question.
"What's Davie short for?"

Davie Schaer

There was a conscious nod and a: "Heh, hehheh, heh." Davie's own laugh in return had been an airy, stagger of a thing. Not crisp, not cool, and impossible to break out of the habit of. The other girl--of course--had a nice laugh. It was clear and lovely and light and this was [&@%!] weird to think about so she should just stop. Focus on the conversation. They were freshmen. Which was fine. Like, she'd never been in the habit of being picky about her friends. Not that they were friends. That might be getting a bit ahead of things. Getting ahead of things would only make her seem weirder, which she could do without.

Her gaze drifted back across to the comfort of Amelie's face. Though, now it wore a forlorn expression. She was quick to connect the dots back to her parents, she couldn't remember the girl laughing at that comment. But it wasn't something she had much time to consider because they were back with the questions.

"Um."

She broke eye contact, trying to remember the lie. The lie. Her perfect lie. The one she'd practised like seventy-three whole times in her bathroom mirror over the last week. "Well, my parents." She trailed off. That wasn't how it started. She bit the inside of her mouth: Start again. "Like they've always just called me Davie. But I guess it's short for something." Which, of course, didn't answer the [&@%!] question. But now she was panicked. And the redness shot up her cheeks. It was so much easier to lie to the mirror. You didn't have to think about it second guessing [&@%!] everything.

"I think it's David." She conceded. And the resignation on her tone said it was less that she thought and more like she knew. "But everyone calls me Davie."

An emphasis that didn't matter a tad.

Amelie Dupont

As Davie started to answer, or attempted to answer her question, Amelie felt bad for asking it. The girl seemed really uncomfortable. It was somewhat infectious, and Amelie winced at the discomfort she was witnessing in front of her.

"Oh. Cool." Was her response. She paused for a couple of seconds, then thought she should say something polite. "Suits you."
While these were the words she spoke, her mind thought that it was odd that her parents would have given her a boys name. Maybe they just really liked the name, or something.

Not knowing what else to say, Amelie's eyes widened, as if trying to absorb some knowledge of what to do next. After a moment, she softly said, "Well, it was nice to meet you."
She gave a toothless smile, not wanting to show her ugly braces, as usual, then after another pause she turned her head back to the front. Her hand delved into her bag, pulling out her book again. She found the bookmark and began reading where she left off.

Davie Schaer

Davie watched her own discomfort begin to reflect itself in Amelie's face. And her eyes darted from it. Watching the expression grow only made her feel less at ease. She had almost muttered an apology. I'm sorry I'm so [&@%!] weird and can't for the life of me be normal. Or act normal. All she had to do was [&@%!] act. Then the conversation lapsed into one of those small silences, the silences where people were deciding whether to pretend the name wasn't weird after all, or laugh. The fingers on her left hand began to jitter lightly.

She wasn't sure how to respond to being told the name suited her. It wasn't her name after all. "But everyone calls me Davie." It was a light mumble, the barest quiver of her lips. The sound hardly rose from her throat. When she thought she might have found the resolve to repeat it, the girl was already in full retreat. Even the [&@%!] freshmen realised she was a loser.

"Nice to meet you, too." It was managed with her own smile. Or attempt at one. Her lips parted enough to suggest she had teeth. The edges slid upwards, suggesting more awkwardness than mirth.

With that she almost buried her nose back into her laptop. But she forced a look at the other girl, reading her reaction. The girl hadn't made her escape yet. That was usually a good sign. "I'm, eh, I'm part of that lucky point-two-five [0.25] percent, I guess." Her smile broadened and she she coughed one of those stupid airy half-laughs she did. Then she realised she hadn't explained it. "Like that's the percent of David's who are girls. Like me. Point-two-five." That literally no-one found statistics fun occured to her about point-two-five seconds later.

Calm down, Summer. You’re just overthinking it. They could have nabbed you the second you left the apartment but that is what they could want me to assume. No, just stop. Stop, take a deep breath, remember that you are small fish in the biggest pond. The redhead closed her eyes for a few seconds whilst taking a couple of deep breaths. She had quite the imagination whenever she felt the net was being cast around her and was her own worst enemy. It was common for her to assume that the sound of a police car was for her. She was careful with her targets. She never boasted about it and in the city of sin, no-one questioned where the cash came from. As the feeling departed from her, she attempted to fall back to sleep.

She looked down at her black leggings with an irritated look on her face. Darn it! Why is it so itchy!? She started to shuffle and hated how the fabric rubbed against her skin. She never normally wore stuff like this but the weather demanded that she change her attire. Her white skirt had a black rose stitched onto the right side of it, the left side possessed a bright blue eyeball with a green card behind it. It was something she had added and was the only thing that she could use as part of her outfit. She moved her shoulders up and down in a small circular manner in a bid to tackle the itch generated by the thick long sleeved green plaid with red squares shirt. Underneath, she wore a sleeveless white shirt. The small red leather jacket stopped just above her belly button. It frustrated her to wear this. Her black ankle length boots had faux silver buckles in lieu of laces. She had painted a small in front of a rough pool table on the left boot. The right boot had a picture of a bikini stuffed with dollar bills. Aside from the skirt and jacket, it just wasn’t her. She preferred to wear short sleeved or sleeveless shirts. Skirts or shorts, something that exposed as much skin as possible to enable her to enjoy the friendly hug of the Nevada sun. “Aaargh!” She grunted in frustration as she shuffled various parts of her body. Ignore it, summer. Distract yourself. Wonder if we have any candy left? She looked at her backpack and saw a pair of feet resting against it.

The backpack itself was dark purple with a blackjack card emblazoned across the front. It had two sections and the zips were faux gold. A key-chain hung from the left side of it and had a total of 5 keyrings attached. Ruby Rose, a silver dollar sign, a smiley face(fairly faded), a novelty eyeball and a pair of mini swords. Why did I pick this?

“Hey!” She looked at the owner of the feet. “Could you er… move your feet please? It’s kinda squashing my backpack.” She requested as she began to rub the palm of her left hand over the surface of her right again. I hope he will do that. I hope I can get back to sleeping. First thing I’m doing is getting changed! I don’t care if I freeze!

Scott Folley

With his headphones on and music playing, Scott was oblivious to the fact that there was someone talking to him.
His head was still up against the window and his eyes were now closed. Slight movements now and then, however, showed that he clearly wasn't asleep.