Chess had paid close attention during the introductory statements, not wanting to miss some important detail or another. The founder seemed like the dean type, with a rotund joviality that one couldn't help but feel welcomed around. It seemed like an odd thought, but he wondered just what the man's deal was, why found this school? Was he himself a mutant? He had to be, of course he was, a human wouldn't found a school like this of his own accord and have this much enthusiasm. Still, such a grand gesture, and to keep it up even after the well-known problems it faced spoke to Portwood's integrity. 

When the ceremony came to a close, Chess had wasted little time in getting to the reception desk, though had a small line to wait through nonetheless. Was he nervous? No, it didn't matter who his roommate was, Chess wouldn't be in there much. He had better things to do than lurk in a dorm all day, he needed to get his foot in the door of the school's theatre department within the week or lord-knows someone else would beat him to it. 

The bubbly-voiced lady at the front desk called out the artsy boy's name, and Chess withheld a scowl when he walked past. He and the black-lung-brigade would be interesting for sure, how long would it be before a fire incident? If he had to get up at three in the morning to vacate the building because they "blazed it" in the library or whatever, there would be hell. A few others got their room keys, most notably the goth boy, Casper. Chess was more or less sure he wouldn't be seeing him around much, but if he did, he wouldn't complain. 

"Abbey Chessar," the woman at the desk stated, more than asked. Impressive. Without waiting for more than a nod from him, she handed him his key and went on. "Room 136 for you, with mister Greg Jackson! Enjoy your day!"

Ugh, was that...Greg was the mind-reader wasn't he? Oh, lovely, wonderful. He'd have to lay ground rules for that, certainly, he didn't need someone speaking his mind for him. Worst case scenario it was just more incentive not to be in the room much. Get out and be active, involve himself with the community, surround himself with a good crowd. 

His stomach fluttered uneasily when he walked into the empty room. He wasn't afraid, he'd prepared earlier that day for such times, but even still the hollowness, the raw...vacancy of the space. His mind tried of its own accord to fill it, and Chess hurriedly set to work. His stuff was there, good, and in good condition, better. With practiced expertise he selected a new outfit and swapped into it. Slim-fitting black pants that ran into casual boots and a flowy top bound from the elbow down comprised most of it, with finger-less gloves and a vest to round it out. Then as always, he made room for his scarf, a ragged purple thing that tucked into his shirt and barely peaked out from the collar. Once, he'd worn it more showily, but after enough people had asked about it or critiqued its place in his wardrobe, he'd decided that giving it a more subtle place on his person was the better way to go to avoid making it a conversation piece. 

A few minutes were spent on his hair, but he was starting to itch with every passing second, and decided that the style would hold up for the rest of the day. He tossed his book onto the bed furthest from the door to claim it as his own, then scurried out of the room and locked the door behind him. Done, done with that, at least for now. He checked his phone for the time, a handful of hours still, he'd be fine. For now, there was lunch to eat, opportunities to go in search of, and people to be around. He started off down the hall, finding his way to the cafeteria before too long.