For the first night in a long while, Lynn slept...well. Relatively speaking, of course-she, belly churning (it was not used to feeling full, and it gnawed at Lynn, insisting that something must be wrong) and mind racing, tossed and turned quite a bit. A few times her fingers curled around the knife she may have relieved the cafeteria of (Lynn, of course, had the forethought to snag a fork and a spoon as well, keeping them tucked inside her bag. This way, she wasn't stealing a weapon, she was merely stealing silverware-and, for once, Lynn was pretty sure her looks would play to her advantage for this). Eventually, even with the rather disturbing thought of being snakebit seventy different times, all at once, she found sleep.

And in that sleep the usual dreams found her. Feverish. Glimpses of women whose faces she'd tried to forget. They blurred a bit. There were little girls in correctional uniforms and some brute of a woman grinning at her with yellowed teeth from within a nun's robes. 

She woke up. Fuck. She had places to be, didn't she?

Lynn was never one to mess around waking up, she didn't need half an hour to get up and running. She slept light and woke lighter, fading in and out of sleep. But that night-that first night-had been an exception. She cursed her...softness. Shouldn't have let that happen, shoulda stayed on her guard. No telling what Snakes might try and pull. No telling at all. Paranoia wasn't pretty, but Lynn was still around-scarred and rough around the edges, but Chicago's streets hadn't brought her down, and neither would a literal cold-blooded roommate.

Lynn stumbled (perhaps she needed a moment or two more than she would admit to wake up) to her belongings, meager and haphazardly strewn in her corner. She still didn't plan on unpacking them anytime soon-she wasn't getting her hopes up. Lynn cast a few casual glances at Snakes while she gathered her things-Lynn didn't find her attractive (usually, Lynn's BAC needed to up a few points before she even began to consider sex), but there was a bit of tension about this whole deal. Snakes was tough in her own way, Lynn figured. Dangerous, beneath the haughty. And yet here she lie sleeping. Lynn focused on the task at hand, humming a Dre song (quietly enough to avoid waking her roommate) as she tucked into the bathroom, looking the toiletries Officer Felix had prepared for her. It was the sort of kindness she really didn't know how to do with, and Lynn examined the items as she brushed her teeth. Mouthwash, floss-who flossed?-deodorant. She chuckled, mouthful of toothpaste. There were a couple of different types. She hadn't seen a ring on the cop's hand-explained why he didn't know how to shop for women. Not that Lynn was a connoisseur of femininity either-she disregarded the tampons and pads hiding at the bottom of the bag, although she figured if she kept on eating properly she might need to worry about those again.

Lynn spat unceremoniously, scattering toothpaste all over the sink. She paused. Shit...she...she could go get breakfast, couldn't she? As much as she wanted? And then come back, to HER room, and brush her teeth again. And then she could go get more food. And nobody could stop her. 

As long as she got to class on time, a little voice whispered. Lynn got a vivid image of a little mouse, scurrying along, eating one crumb at a time, until a cat slams its paw down-

Lynn turned on the faucet, the water coming out boiling hot even though she'd flipped the cold swith. Deep breaths. "I'm not a fucking mouse," Lynn muttered. No breakfast. Not this morning. She didn't need it.

Lynn threw her toiletries back onto the pile of belongings and slipped into some real clothes. She ran her hands across her arms, admiring her tattooes for a moment. She glanced at the mirror in the room, grinning wickedly. "Cordelia, you sexy beast," she muttered. throwing on the form-engulfing hoodie along with her backpack. Lynn jogged out, checking the beaten-up old watch on her wrist for the time. She, shall we say, had PLENTY of past opportunities to...acquire...nicer watches, but those stood out on street rats. You gotta play the part, or they'll know something's up. Want to know whose house to watch for? Look for the trap house with a Corvette in the driveway. She wasn't giving these Institute fuckers any probable cause. No siree. If she was getting kicked out of this gilded cage, it was on her terms.

She made her way to the PE field, sizing up the other people. Good, she wasn't first. Nobody likes a tryhard. Lynn was wearing basketball shorts, which comprised a solid thirty percent of her wardrobe. Hmm. Names. Names. There was the scrawny one-the one who'd better hope to God he never does hard time-and there was the European. German? Sounded sorta like it. Lynn knew a few guys in the Brotherhood, but figured they probably didn't know him. She wisely decided to wait until they were a touch more familiar before bringing it up. These guys were from the bus, weren't they? They must've had a lot of classes scheduled together and...aw, shit, she was gonna be around Snakes a lot. And that weird fucker who climbed on the tables at dinner. Lynn walked on over, her brown hair streaked with a few touches of warm blonde. Similarly, her eyes had the faintest specks of gold, an identical hue, just barely visible in the early morning glare. Lynn yawned, rolling her feet (her shoes were noticeably more expensive than the rest of her ensemble) and eyeing the handful of scars on her legs for a while. Heh. Good times. That jackass had sworn the car was only going thirty five...

"'Sup," Lynn muttered, not really knowing how you start conversations or whatever. "Is this gonna be, like, dodgeball and running laps and shit? Because I got a doctor to excuse me from that, on account of my not being a second grader." Behind the griping, Lynn would much rather prefer to be doing physical activities-ooh, maybe they'd get kickboxing-than mental ones. If she could prove her worth out here early, she'd get less shit later when they had to read books and stuff. Lynn grinned, looking at her watch without realizing it.

Tick tock. Sooner or later your charade's up, Lynn.

She took it off and stuffed it into her backpack, pausing for a moment, and then removing her sweatshirt, which was folded up with a touch of respect and then placed inside the pack. She threw her bag over to an unoccupied part of the grass, wondering if anyone was willing to die/go through her shit. She glanced back over at it every seconds, just to be sure. These two seemed alright, at any rate. Not people she'd hang out with in her free time (to be fair, there were maybe three or four individuals who fit that criteria), but not douchebags, which Lynn could roll with. Another twinge of sympathy and disdain for Casper emerged. Kid seemed weak. Lynn had a soft spot for underdogs, and figured she'd watch out for him. Watching out for him may entail helping him man up, but watching out nonetheless. If his ass got picked last and he started to cry, there wasn't much she could do though. "Hey," Lynn said, perking up and looking at Mason. "Sorry if this is, like, racist or whatever, but do they really call 'em royales with cheese instead of quarter pounders?"