[B][center][h2]Coleman St. John[/h2][/center][/b] It was rare for him to sleep past sunrise. Daylight glowed behind the closed blinds while the movement of traffic was steady towards the intersection down the street. As he rolled over groggy the backup alarm sounded from a truck a few blocks away. Reaching for the small nightstand, he checked his phone for the time, seeing that he’d slept through the regular alarm. There was no particular reporting time for him at the Institute, [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4793922]particularly on a Saturday[/url] he essentially set his own hours. As the cloud of sleep slowly dissipated from his mind, his first thoughts were of Kaylee and then of the students. He doubted they would have any idea, but there would be no hiding it from her. He sat up in bed and relaxed against the headboard for a moment, looking straight ahead as his mind worked on how she was going to approach him. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted faintly through the bedroom and he shook his head slowly. He didn’t smoke and neither did any of his neighbors in the apartments beside him. For whatever reason, the scent was always present the morning that followed a ride. He tossed the covers aside and got out of bed. The downstairs was little more than a narrow garage, enough for two cars nose to tail. He used part of it as a workspace for his motorcycle which left plenty of room for his much less conspicuous Explorer. As he came down the narrow stairs dressed in a polo and some jeans the headlamp and front forks of [url=http://www.badland.net/hd-custom/116_-black-mass/]the bike[/url] were turned facing him. He slowed his steps looking down at the machine. “Don’t you say a word.” He said firmly toward it. The machine only stared back as he walked around and maneuvered it just enough to get the car out. It was a nice day for a ride, but he wasn’t taking it back up to the Institute- [i]not a chance[/i]. He decided to very low-key check on everyone and use the quiet of his small office at the school to work on some of his other side cases for a couple of hours. Continuing his shuffle of vehicles, he backed the car out slightly and then pushed the bike around to its regular spot in the small workspace: a couple large toolboxes and a well-worn workbench that was left over from the apartment’s previous tenant. There were a few photos hanging along with other miscellaneous trinkets: A picture of him and his sister at her college graduation next to an old Gulf Oil sign, another one of him and several others standing next to a burned out tank somewhere in the middle-east in their desert camo that hung slightly off center next to the hood ornament from a Mercedes. There was a small collection of motorcycle parts lying around in various states of disassembly, some visibly damaged from where he had crashed his other bike. Since taking up the position at the Institute, he’d hadn’t had much time for tinkering. He glanced at the setup for a moment and, as usual, resolved to at least get it better organized at some near point in the future. Hopping back in the car, he eased out into the street as the garage door closed and headed towards the Institute. [@Almalthia]