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[b][h1][color=DarkSlateGray]Deon Howlette[/color][/h1][/b]
[img]https://media.giphy.com/media/qcbx3pXUkJYwU/giphy.gif[/img]
[color=darkslategray][h3]-Son of the Wolverine-[/h3][/color]
Interacting with: Phoebe Wayne-Isley ([@Caits]), Uná O’Brian ([@Almalthia]) and Lavi Kyle ([@Ejected])
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The hum of the rather flashy [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/68/cd/09/68cd097493362e8999621ca4a13b8e2f--kawasaki-motorcycles-sport-motorcycles.jpg]motorcycle[/url] came to a gradual stop as Deon parked it, not really caring if he was in the right spot or not. The only other vehicles there was some run down, shitty-ass truck and an (admittedly) pretty sexy looking black dodge charger. Shrugging, Deon stepped one leg over his bike and stretched his legs and neck, though to his dismay, was not rewarded by a series of pops. If there was anything he missed about his body before William Stryker had made him better, it was the satisfaction of hearing his bones and joints crack - a relief of pressure that his adamantium skeleton would no longer provide.

The backpack he had slung over both shoulders was practically weightless, holding only a handful of essential items such as his phone charger, bathroom supplies and a few changes of clothes. He traveled light - always had. He wasn't exactly the materialistic sort. Not since becoming Stryker's attack dog. And if he should so happen come into the possession of a few things during his stay at this... school... then so be it.

Deon slipped his right arm from the backpack strap, leaving it hanging loosely on his left shoulder - a much more comfortable way of carrying it around (and definitely less dorky/schoolboy looking). His blue eyes glanced around, feet slowly carrying him as he took in the sights that surrounded him. It was definitely much different than Stryker's island, but not nearly as glamorous or flashy as his time in Tokyo. It would do, but judging by the few glances he got of who would be his company and competition for the next however long, he counted on things getting dull rather quickly.

Within the throng of the crowd (somehow even bypassing the strange collection of tamed animals - were those lions?), a flash of red caught his peripheral. A rather smug smile found it's way to his lips as his head turned to drink in the full view. A redhead had just gathered up her belongings and was headed inside. God only knew why it was redheads specifically that got his blood flowing hot - he loved all (attractive) women equally. But there was just something about redheads...

The twenty-year-old readjusted the grip on his backpack strap and jogged up to close the distance between them, calling out to her once there was only ten or so feet between them.

[color=Darkslategray]"So I've come to the conclusion that blondes can be kind of ditzy doodles, and brunettes are a lot like well-behaved, groomed prize poodles... but anyone who doesn't try to meet a gorgeous redhead like you is definitely missing some brainy noodles."[/color] Chuckling, he managed to close the distance between them until he was walking in time with the redhead at her side. [color=darkslategray]"Hey, I'm Deon."[/color] He extended out his free hand to shake. [color=darkslategray]"This place kind of sucks. You want to look around until we can find something more fun to do with our time?"[/color] His quirked eyebrow rose to his hairline, the tilt of his mouth adding to the asymmetrical look he was giving her enough to pass off as being either completely innocent, or completely full of shit.

Despite the fact that he had gone out of his way to ignore the few people who were (possibly?) already talking with the redhead, Deon could feel a pair of eyes on him - a gaze so intense that he felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end.

Daring a sideways glance, Deon's blue eyes met with the soft hazels of his fathers. Logan Howlette stood at the doorway before the school, leaning up against the building with his arms crossed over his broad chest, the seams in his leather jacket threatening to split if he even so much as thought about flexing. It was clear that his father's intention was to scope out the students that he would now be undertaking for the year, but both Logan and Deon knew better - he was waiting for [i]him[/i].

Deon could sense his father the second he drove up on campus. It was likely that Logan could sense the same. The two didn't exactly have the best relationship in the world, as Deon had tried to kill Logan a handful of times in a deal he made with William Stryker. But ever since the treaty, Deon had to hold back his bubbling anger for the man responsible for his mother's death. Accident or not, his father had left him twice, robbed him of a mother, and needed to die. What better way to keep an eye on him, though, than his own school?

The two said absolutely nothing to each other as Deon passed Logan by, but the boy couldn't help but to give his father a quick wink and a sly smile, making it absolutely clear to Logan that perhaps the hatchet hadn't truly been buried (figuratively).