[center][h2][color=ed1c24][i][b]Drake “D” Edwards[/b][/i][/color][/h2]
[img] https://image.ibb.co/mbnbKq/drake3post.jpg [/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=ed1c24][b]Interaction/Mentions:[/b][/color]   |  [color=ed1c24][b]Location:[/b][/color] Ashford Institute > Danger Room
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	Drake looked around the room, trying to stay in the moment. Part of him wanted to just leave, but another part tugged at him to stay, to integrate and be social again like he was before all of the... complications.  [color=f7976a][i]You have so many relationships in this life. Only one or two will last.[/i][/color]  He did a mental double-take at those words in his mind.  Was that his own thought?  The concept  proved true in his case.  He could be in a room full of 'friends' and really only feel close to one or two of them.  His ability to truly connect was rare but when it happened, that connection was indomitable.  [color=f7976a][i]You go through all the pain and strife, then you turn your back and they're gone so fast[/i][/color].  What the hell was happening?  It didn't seem like the grizzled influence of The Other, but the words were not being willfully summoned by Drake, himself.  Maybe his subconscious was trying to tell him something.

	[color=f7976a][i]So hold on to the ones who really care.  In the end they'll be the only ones there.[/i][/color]  Drake began silently repeating the words, his lips recreating each one as he stared down at the ground with a stern look of concentration.  He [i]knew[/i] these words...  and yet they were foreign.  [color=f7976a][i]And when you get old and start losing your hair, tell me who will still care.[/i][/color]

	"[color=f7976a]When you get old and start losing your hair?[/color]" Drake audibly repeated before cautiously touching his own unkempt mane.  Growing hair was not a problem he had now, nor did he anticipate such a problem in the future.  "[color=f7976a]The hell is this-  wait...[/color]" The tingles of familiarity began to erupt from Drake's stomach like electricity that traveled at breakneck speeds down his legs, through his arms and up his neck.  His pupils even dilated for but a moment when the answer finally hit him.

	"[color=f7976a]Mmmbop ba duba dop ba du bop, ba duba dop ba du bop, ba duba dop ba duuuu... yeeaaayyeaahhh.[/color]" Face face was covered in an enlightened grin and an obvious sense of accomplishment, having solved the mystery.  The glee quickly dissolved though and, in his best Eeyore impression, he said, "[color=f7976a]I hate that song.[/color]"

	Drake quickly brushed it off, trying to force himself back to reality.  "[color=f7976a]Anyway, uh.  If any of you ever want to actually spar in this place, hit me up,[/color]" he offered openly as he patted at his own pockets.  Eventually he found the small rectangular box he was looking for; his pack of cigarettes.  He meticulously pulled one out and placed it between his lips before returning the pack to his pocket and starting toward the exit.  "[color=f7976a]Til then, I'll be around,[/color]" he called back as he made he way toward his intended destination of the courtyard to puff on his cancer stick.  He would need to go to his dorm room soon after and give himself a makeover that didn't end with him looking like a homeless man that had recently been turned into a zombie.