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[right][sub][color=dimgray][b]Interacting with:[/b] Herself[/color][/sub][/right]
[indent][color=cd32cd]Sucking on a blue raspberry ring pop, making it resemble a pacifier, the only child of the camp director, who went by the nickname Krysti, planted her feet in the left-handed batter's box. She made circles with her [url=https://media.musely.com/u/89d5339f-242c-4cec-a879-f98c001819e8.jpg]baseball bat[/url] as she waited for the rundown pitching machine to send a ball flying. Another summer without him caring, another year where nothing she did mattered, another opportunity to go out with a — [i]clink![/i] — bang. Tightening her grip on the handle, she kept her eyes on the machine as the ball she just hit got sent into the stratosphere. 

She arrived when all the counselors got here, which meant all her shit was already on her [i]claimed[/i] top bunk, which was the bed right under the glow-in-the dark stars she put on the ceiling. Also, her name was carved all over the wood frame so if people wanted to play games with her, she'd — [i]clink![/i] — [b]FIGHT [/b]them. That was HER bed for the past seven years! If they dared touch her [url=https://media.dollskill.com/media/M8PYc6Xtawmr8V3tHR8ChSEJ1t4GvO0o-34.jpg]comforter[/url], she'd make sure they'd wake up with a [i]pleasant [/i]surprise right by their FACE. 

It's shit. She'd shit on their bed. 

The green haired troublemaker didn't give a fuck if she sent any of those pansies home. If they couldn't handle her, they couldn't handle this camp. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, and how she wanted. There was no man, woman, or old person that could put her in her place. Camp Red Arrow was her playground and she'd be damned if someone thought they could tell her what to do. 

Fuck 'em! They all could just — [color=32cd32][b]"Eat shit!"[/b][/color][i] clink![/i] — for all she cared.

Don't even get her started with her [i]father[/i]. Her dad was stupid for bailing. They were supposed to play catch. That fucker. Hell if she'd show up for that stupid orientation thing, with a shitty video and shitty people telling them the rules and shit, and it being complete and boring shit, like fucking — [i]clink![/i] — SHIT. They were all probably uncomfortably close to each other, sweaty as balls, in that tiny ass rec room. 

YEAH, NO THANKS. [/color][/indent]
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[right][sub][color=dimgray][b]Interacting with:[/b] the Rec room and the boys' cabin.
[@smarty0114][@Hey Im Jordan][@spooner][/color][/sub][/right]
[indent][color=fff79a]Why was he here? 

Holding up his mother's ancient camcorder, using it to mask his lack of enthusiasm, the curly-haired boy with a cute hat on, observed the room in silence. His mother wanted him to die, didn't she? A horrible and terrible death. She told him what he would bring and confiscated everything that gave him joy. On top of losing his means to make music, he had to tolerate an existence without the use of his cellular device, which was utterly pointless in this dead zone. He could use it for his playlists, but was there even outlets in the dorms to charge it? 

This was the absolute worse. 

He hated every second of his time at camp and it only just begun!

Caught up in his woes, Emmett adjusted his hat and side stepped to the window, giving the other campers space. As the counselor talked about ice cream and the 'perks' of camp, the scrawny diva surveyed the amenities, continuing to keep to himself and avoid interacting with the other boys and girls in this jam packed room. His eyes fell on the jukebox. Vintage. He wondered if it had good jams. Probably not, but he could hope. And check later, of course. From the jukebox to the Nintendo 64 and Xbox, the handsomely dressed teen continued to take mental notes, while feeling out of place. If anything, he'd unplug the consoles in order to charge his phone for his downloaded content. He'd have to stay sane somehow. 

[b][color=#fff20c]“We’re gonna be stuck here for at least three months..."[/color][/b]

[color=ade6d8][i]Three WHOLE months![/i][/color] The striving music producer hoped to his mother's God that she was planning his funeral because when he returned, he wouldn't be breathing. Not at all. He'd surely be a cold corpse when this summer was through. Such was the life of Emmett Valentine, the would've-been-famous music guy! 

Gingerly, he closed the LCD screen (putting the camcorder in the bag), as all the campers tried to escape the room, unceremoniously. When he tried to leave, he was forcibly pushed back and his delicate bottom rammed against the hockey table. Closing his eyes, to ease his irritation, he patiently waited until things cleared out. While he waited, he slipped in his earpieces and listened to the last song he had on [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bwp6Sf9FY7Q]play[/url], which was something he helped produce for his friend back at home. Then, and only then, did he trail behind. With a checkered backpack on, pulling a mint hard-shell suitcase from behind him, Emmy shuffled to the place he'd sleep for the next [i]century[/i]. Heavily sighing, he looked down at his low top converses (they were black) as he trekked onward down the path to the cabins. 

Leisurely, he bobbed his head to the music, erasing the gruesomely hot sun and the bugs, all the goddamn bugs. He needed to change his attitude. Sure, he didn't want to be here but he kind of had no choice. He was already here. There was no way he could be productive in the middle of nowhere, at least in terms of his passions, but he could try to make his mom happy. Try to expand his horizons! Enjoy being young! Make mistakes! [i]Have fun[/i]. 

And yet... he stopped in front of the cabin. Looking it up and down, Emmy released an inaudible grumble. There was no bright side to this 'adventure' as his mother put it. He didn't know anyone. He didn't have his guitar or laptop or portable drum pad controller or mics. He had nothing. Just himself, a camcorder, and a harmonica if he needed to feed the itch to play something. 

Once again, he gave a depressive groan, pulling one of his earpieces out, as he entered the cabin. Before he even claimed a bed, one of the guys decided to offer weed, which was rewarded with an unapologetic grimace. [b]

[color=ade6d8]"No—"[/color][/b] [i]Pause[/i]. [b][color=ade6d8]"—Thank you."[/color][/b] 

Originally, he was going to ask if the bottom bunk was taken, the one right under the weed boy's bed, however, Emmy was immediately turned off by the offer of 'kindness' and chose to walk deeper into the cabin, claiming the bottom bunk on the other end of the room.

Well, this was it. 

His bed... 

Before he did anything with his suitcase, he examined the sheets and the mattress. Frowning, he noticed a stain on them. He'd probably sleep fully clothed and with the hotel-looking sheet his mom rolled up and packed for him. It was always good to be safe rather than be sorry. After ripping the pillow case and sheets off his bed and onto the floor, he threw his suitcase on top of the seemingly rock hard mattress. 

Turning around to awkwardly watch the other boys, Emmy took off his hat and fiddled with it in his hands, [color=ade6d8][b]"So. This is where.. we'll be staying."[/b][/color] He cleared his throat, debating if he should introduce himself or not. He could hear his mother's voice bitching and whining inside his head. After licking his lips, he reluctantly greeted, [color=ade6d8][b]"I'm Emmett."[/b][/color]  [/color][/indent]