Luminous Beings

Verthaven (High-Casual Superhuman City)

Much appreciated. Feeling the other two as well though. This always happens, indecision over what characters to use. Ah, too many choices. I'll probably wind up flipping a bunch of coins or something.

Verthaven (High-Casual Superhuman City)

Thanks! I'm not entirely sure. I think a power centered around consumption-that never-ending hunger. Their more monstrous abilities lie dormant, but that urge to consume's always there, and the more they indulge it the more power they're able to use. Drawback being that a bloodlusted shark usually isn't the most clear-minded. Not to mention even among metas that's a pretty disturbing power. They'd have to try and keep it under wraps.

Thought about playing it from a more spiritual angle, too. Aside from just eating physical stuff, more abstract stuff. Dreams, fear, etc. Don't know how that'd work out. I'll let it simmer for a while until Lone gets his shit together puts up the OP.

Verthaven (High-Casual Superhuman City)

I'm trying to decide between a wendigo-based character, an android, or a girl who fucks with inertia in her immediate vicinity.

Verthaven (High-Casual Superhuman City)

Interested, but that's sort of a given with me, eh?

Portwood Institute for Talented Youths (PITY)

Dodgeball will not be kind to him.

Portwood Institute for Talented Youths (PITY)

Posted, and waiting for Casper to prove a lot of gym class stereotypes veeeeeery wrong.

Portwood Institute for Talented Youths (PITY)

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?"

Portwood Institute for Talented Youths (PITY)

I thought you set it immediately after Lynn finally got to sit down with a full meal, thought you GM's were just being sadistic.

Woohoo! PE. Because even superhumans need self-esteem issues. Unless there's MMA or those rope-climbing drills, I imagine Miss Holmes will not be picked first.

Academy 218: Still looking for new people to join - now is the primetime.

Cassidy Lynn Daniels

And....showstopper.

Cassidy watched Diego suckerpunch MacArthur with genuine surprise. Burnt flesh and roasting fabric hit her nose and made her face scrunch, her eyes water involuntarily. Uggghh.

And down, down, down...

For a moment Cassidy's mind sidestepped into something darker. Diego had...there...there was Not-Diego there. Something else. Something beyond. She'd felt it, tiptoe up her spine, some subtle little instinctual warning that Diego had not been behind the wheel when he crashed headlong into Titus. And for a moment, Cassidy thought perhaps they would come to blows, which would then bring her to blows with Lupe, which would then bring her to die. She could not fight the both of them, she didn't think, especially if Whatever That Was went in to kill Titus instead of letting him recover.

Still she was not one to die easy or let things such as this slide. She stared at Diego for a moment, watching horror and confusion roll over the boy's face. No. He had not meant this, she did not think. What she'd felt, driving knives into the monster, it had been...terrible. Awful. Fear, but something else. Some kind of primal, visceral joy, like she was waking up parts of her mind and soul that had been lying dormant for centuries, waiting for one of her bloodline to be put in a situation where humans were once again at the bottom of the food chain. It had scared her.

But she liked it.

She saw a trace of it on Diego's face, and Cassidy thought it was only because she knew what to look for-to see if she was looking at a killer or a murderer. She choked for a moment-a reaction that was both to the nauseating reek of Titus' liquefying flesh and to the feeling of steel in her throat and gut, a three and a half foot length of blade that she swallowed back into its hiding place with a sharp effort. Not today. No killing.

"Lupe," Cassidy barked, turning and walking towards the exit. This was something else-something quite else entirely. The boy might die. She'd seen Titus shrug off the heaviest hits from that demon a week back (and once again even in the midst of this little crisis the thought of what could have happened and that deep-gut-fear gripped Cassidy casting a shadow over that scarred face) but he didn't seem to be bouncing back from this one. No sense in counting on it-she didn't know the extent of his powers, how his regeneration functioned. Good chance he was down for the count, that the saw really had cut the girl in half, that the handcuffed man was drowning for real. Cassidy stopped and turned. "I'm going to get help," she said, no more easygoing aloofness. She was cold and serious. "For whatever good it will do put pressure on the wound."

Cassidy balled up her coat and began running out of the room, her choice of shoes not exactly expediting the process. Neither was the suit for that damn matter. She decided on perhaps, slightly more practical, if still fashionable, clothing for the future. Given the rather alarming rate of student casualties, it certainly couldn't hurt.

Selena Wodan Chilver

Selena gave the lizard a sideways glare at the brownose comment. "Well next time I'll skip the formalities and jump right into the ass-kicking, Odin. Hope you got some reports to fill out for NEST. I'll give you some good shi-" she paused abruptly, spotting a student walking by. "Ah, fuck it-some good shit to put down. Don't curse," she added to the terrified looking sixth grader who'd unfortunately witnessed her profanity. "Eh. I never really cared about job security."

A Roach. Hmm. Useful term. She liked crushing roaches, whether they be physical or metaphorical. Selena wasn't a violent person. But her powers-and her disposition, she could not entirely blame it upon her nature-were predisposed towards that struggle. Of establishing supremacy, of vying to see who was stronger, faster, better, fitter. She'd found healthy ways of channeling it-it'd been athletics in high school and college, and now these sorts of jobs, work that'd let her bury herself in the hunt and focus her passion without worrying about collateral damage. She didn't try and repress it-it was who she was. Some people were just born warriors, and Selena felt that itch. She didn't feel home in a place, she felt it in the tension of a nocked bow, or a pistol's iron sights...

"Baby sitting me in the woods. You just feeling all sorts of salty today. Fine by me. If you've already got salt, it'll speed up the process when I turn your scaly ass into a pair of boots."

She did stop and give him a 'You shitting me'? Look at the time of the month comment. Even between close friends, there were lines. He quickly rectified his mitake, which made Selena chuckle. Henry was just too easy sometimes. "Well, Twilight novel, hey now. I'm not asking you about the Black Lagoon," she grinned, checking through her gear one more time. Selena treated her work with the meticulous professionalism of a seasoned expert as well as the enthusiasm of someone who loved what they were doing. Her shotgun was on safe, without a shell in the chamber. This was a school after all. "Heh, spare vest? From your room? Might be a bit big on me, but I'll give it a shot." She checked and made sure her NEST badge was in her wallet-Selena didn't carry a purse. "Yup, we're clear." she tucked her supplies back into the duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder casually. She wasn't expecting a fight-not in broad daylight-but there was no sense in leaving this out of sight. She'd keep it on her until Henry could hook her up with a vest and some holsters. While the bag had weight to it, Selena was tough. Both of normal human standards, and amongst her powered brethren.

"Traps? Getting dirty. Makes sense. Kids lives at stake, after all. Yeah, let's head out. Sitting on that boat made me too long. Eager to see what this Academy's like. And then tonight-fun. Where do you want to start for traps? For hunting I'm thinking through where they might go." This process was somewhat morbid-as I've said, Selena was a huntress, the same way Socrates was a thinker and Picasso an artist. It's what, fundamentally, she was. Putting herself in the mind of a beast was not as far a stretch for her as it may have been for others. If she were to prey upon the school, she'd want somewhere suited to her advantages. She'd want the woods. Tough for them to scour, easy camouflage. Easy to get lost and separated in, harder for radio contact and cell phone reception. But that wasn't everybody. These things are nocturnal and they get inside the school. Outside, there's a hell of a lot of daylight-Selena's deeply bronzed skin was a testament to that (although her heritage helped her tan as well). That left the basement-she figured this place had to have some kind of catacombs or tunnels or something, it just seemed fitting. Maybe a bomb shelter-and for a school of this size, you'd need to get pretty deep. It'd be where she was-relatively easy to get back into the school, and people avoid the spooky underground on general principle.

Except, of course, for teenagers looking to prove a point or teenagers looking to, ah, prove a point. She wondered how many lovebirds had wandered off and turned into monster chow. Plus down there-close quarters. Better suited for a physical beast like that thing. Bow wouldn't be much use, which irritated her. "My gut's saying the basement, if this school's got one. Some kinda tunnels or something. Lines up for a nocturnal motherfucker-it's not getting much darkness outside, at any rate." She walked outside, slipping the key in her pocket next to her wallet. Selena had an athletic body, the taut muscle of years of hard work and testing what her body was capable of. That being said, she didn't do very much to accentuate it-while the outdoors were secondhand to her, a handful of social graces were not, and she'd always fumbled when it came to fashion. Her clothes were warm in the winter and cool in the summer, but that was about the only seasonal variation she had. "Tonight, we kick some ass, roast some steaks, finish this deal up in a week or two. Lead the way Doc. I'll have to start poaching middle schoolers if I get bored."

Portwood Institute for Talented Youths (PITY)

Collab with DrugMother

Gene's pythons were wrapped closely around her neck as she fiddled with her long pointed nails. The peanut gallery was certainly larger than she had ever expierenced. Though, their stares were just as insignifcant as those of her servants. The assembly hall was suitingly packed with children of varied ages, ethnicities and mutations. She held a very casual air of authority to her posture as she glared at the individual whom was heading the event with an incredulous eye. He seemed to tepid to be the supposedly prominent figure, Alan Portwood. The suit he wore was certainly of an agreeable quality, his body type certainly suggested that he was well fed. It was presumably his warmth that his voice and feature's exuded onto the audience. She felt almost instantly repelled by the forgien characteristic. It was overbearing to listen to, it crept up her spine with an acrid, almost perverted quality to the sensation it envoked.

When the hall errupted in cheers, she rigidly shot upwards, glaring in disgust at the volume of the auidence; her pythons hissing aggressively at the people who sat beside her. Some of the students promptly silenced themselves at the audible threats of the albino's serpents that decorated her head.

She rigedly started to count down the second until the fat man's preformance was over. Gene hoped that these events would be as sparce and infrequent as humanly possible. She remained seated until the rest of the student body left the assembly hall. There was not a chance in hell she was going to be uncomfortable crammed between those children as they ran to the door.

"---And well you must be Geneviève Simmone!" A blond woman's voice rung out, overtly cheerfully, inviting her over with a beckoning of her hand. The last couple students were clearing out after recieving whatever information this woman was doling out. "You are going to be rooming with Cordelia Lynn Holmes in room 222! "

"Rooming? Do you mean I have a foster....mate?" Gene asked dubiously.

"No, silly! Like A roommate!" She replied, handing her a form. Gene was not wearing her glasses, so the form written in a second language was of no current use to her.

"Excuse me. This concept is not exactly, one I am well acquainted with." "---You are telling me. I have a partner to my room....like I have to use this room...in a partnership...." Her voice was incredibly skeptical, her face contorted into a full grimace as she symbolicly slide the sheet back.

"Of course you silly...snake! oh, hahah silly snake, I kill me..." The woman giggled to herself, Gene glared at the woman in disbelief at the horrible nature of both that joke and the situation.

"..." Gene was not bemused by this interaction at all, she promptly side eyed the woman before dismissively turning away.

-------------

After Gene had created a large enough scene to have a custodian deliver her bags to her room she promptly followed the disgruntled worker to her dorm. It was mainly a ploy to figure out where she was suppose to be staying, but partly because there was no realistic way that Gene would ever carry her own items.

"Here we are." A gruff voice grumbled under a scruffed beard as the individual began to shovel her many bags into the room where an unordered servant was standing.

"Are you my foster child?" She asked, turned off by the idea she was sponsoring some poor to do child.

"----Where do you sleep?"

--------------------

There wasn't an overt sign of Lynn's fury, but it was good she was facing away from Snakes when Gene walked in. There was a flicker of homicidal intent followed by the slightest twitch of her right index finger, the subtle way her body temperature spiked a few degrees. Roomies, cellmates, same deal. She'd done this dance before. This was...less than ideal. Borderline cruel. Lynn waited to reply for a moment, scanning the room. She'd done a once-over, checking for cameras or anything-if there were any, they were hidden too expertly for Lynn to find them-but this almost seemed like a practical joke, some cruel, unethical psychological experiment. Lock the least compatible lab rats in a cage.

"I hope I'm not your foster child," Lynn sighed, turning around. Her hair had shifted since Gene had last seen her-the normal brown was a soft red, and it seemed to shimmer just a bit in the fluorescent light. Her eyes were a similar hue, although much less pronounced-gentler, like the glow of a campfire. "I've filled out that paperwork before, it's long as shit.Don't think my stuff'll take up that much space," Lynn realized this would probably come off as a jab to Snakes-to an extent, it was, but she had to remind herself adversity wasn't getting her anywhere. Smiling faces. Happy thoughts. Not being sent back to juvy. Rinse, wash, repeat. Lynn paused, realizing there'd be a little standoff if nobody decided on anything. "I'll take bottom bunk and that area," she said, pointing towards the dressers and desk-ugh, a desk, were they actually gonna have, like, homework and shit-to the right. "Unless you want those, in which case, we can flip a coin for it or something." She paused. Offering it up would be...a bitch move. Not bitch in the sense of gossippy and manipulative, but bitch in the sense of...lesser. Beta. Lynn had old habits burned in hard-having to run with some of Chicago's less savory types was an unforgiving experience, and doing it as a 5'2 Caucasian girl even moreso. She'd learned being assertive as a second nature. Scowling and telling people to fuck off was a means of pre-emptively putting your foot down.

But Snakes hadn't, Lynn was willing to bet, ever dealt in that kind of world. "Or if you, like, really want it, that's cool too. I don't care one way or another." Lynn pulled her sweatshirt up over her neck, pulling up her tanktop underneath for a moment. Her clothes weren't going to be featured in Vogue anytime soon-the trusty old sweatshirt got slung over a shoulder as she pulled her tanktop back down. For a moment, however, the bottom of her stomach was exposed, with the silhouette of her ribcage pressing against the flesh, a handful of old scars and the base of the tattooes peeking out. Her other markings ran down her arms, and Lynn pulled her hair back into a bun absentmindedly, her hair and eyes slowly and smoothly flowing back to brown. "No big deal, you know. Just, uh, whatever." She paused, feeling like she was missing something. "Oh, yeah, I'm Lynn. Happy...being roommates, I guess." She extended a hand to Snakes, her palm likely unnaturally warm.

Well, they wouldn't have to argue over the thermostat, at least.

Gene quickly noticed the mild raise in temperature as she slowly fanned her face. If her roommate was too firey then she might sweat. That would be absolutely awful, especially in these clothes. Sweatstains are attrocious to remove from versace satin. She noticed a small change in color in Lynn's hair that seem to correlate with the temperature change. Gene looked the small girl up and down with scrutnizing eyes, evaluating the tiny girl with her yellow eyes. The pythons curled affectionately around Gene's arms, their scales embracing her soft ivory skin. The nonchalance of her posture was one that insinuated she felt no need to be intimidated by the human-lighter.

"Are you talking about that paper that woman tried to hand me?" Gene asked with a casual tone of disinterest, leaning herself up against the window that guided steady streams of sunlight upon her shoulders. She shuffled through her purse she pulled out a compact. She paused at meet eyes with her roommate, briefly trading glances with the bunk bed's that perplexed the gorgon. "Take what you want. I'll just wait until my bed arrives." She mumbled, applying a thick coat of matte lipsticks to her lucious lips.

"What is your view on...cocaine?" she asked bluntly, putting her makeup away as she leaned farther into the wall, eyes staring coldly at Lynn as she awaited her answer.

In spite of herself, Lynn grinned-shoulda guessed. "Depends on who's asking," Lynn replied somewhat cautiously. She was no stranger to the underworld-she'd ran coke a few times, narrowly avoided getting busted a few others. One of Lynn's scars itched at the mention of the word, bringing back the thought of cold barbed wire, howling dogs...she blinked it away and focused on the issue at hand. She'd never messed around much with it herself-drugs didn't seem to do a whole lot for Lynn, save alcohol. She figured it was her mutation, and she was partly correct-the girl's heightened internal temperature denaturalized a great many chemicals, good and bad. Metabolically and literally, she burned through stuff far too quickly for it to have much of an effect.

However, she knew this sort of game. There was a chance Snakes was asking because she planned on bursting every blood vessel in her nose tonight. And there was a chance Snakes was asking because she, perhaps correctly, assumed Lynn knew some people. But there was also a chance Snakes didn't want to share a room with her, and Snakes figured she could pin her with something on day one.

Lynn had made her fair share of mistakes, ranging greatly in stupidity and severity. Getting burned on drug charges on day one wasn't her style. Just how hard she was going to try and stay in this place, Lynn hadn't decided on yet. Felt like a cage. Lynn didn't like cages. But the alternative might've been a hell of a lot worse. Lynn was very rarely blessed with numerous choices-she didn't enjoy throwing what few she had aside.

More to the point, Lynn figured that was tacit approval for claiming wherever she wanted. Lynn hurled her duffel bag against her corner, figuring she'd unpack it...well, maybe never. There was something final about unpacking. She hadn't unpacked her backpack, well and truly emptied it, in a good many years. Never knew when you'd have to leave in a hurry. Besides, she figured they'd be looking for excuses to kick her out. Whether Lynn's paranoia was justified (or, perhaps more accurately, whether the "undue" attention she received was her fault), she never figured she'd last a week. Maybe these other assholes thought about the future. Here and now was more Lynn's style-future was intangible. Future was for rich, snake-haired chicks who had money to waste on lipstick. Couldn't be disappointed by the lack of said future if you didn't unpack your bag. Lynn's ethos was strange, but morbidly efficient.

She sat down on her bed for a moment, testing it. Damn. This...Lynn adamantly maintained that she took shit from no one, followed nobody's orders, and could not and would not be bought out, but...this was nice. A room. Even if she had to share. A bed. With pillows. Christ above. "Yeah. Any other ground rules we need to cover or something? Haven't had a roommate in..." She paused, considering that, perhaps, the real answer would not get her off on the right foot with Snakes.She didn't need her new roommate accusing her of stealing all her stuff. That would be completely unfounded. After all, there was no one to fence it to here, there'd be no point in stealing it. "....a while. I don't really care what all you do as long as I can crash in here whenever." She went for a cigarette and stopped. "Shit, can we smoke in here?"

-----s
s

Gene's face twisted in unpleasant confusion at her roommate's reply. She figured the girl could not be as stupid as to honestly asked that, but could not risk the chance of the scruffy looking teenager being this stupid. "I am...." Gene retorted with a acrid bitterness, stroking the chin scales of one of her pythons as they moved liesurely around her. "--Well, omitting legality, I can keep your morality ...on a 'all inclusive....auhmm....vacation'." Gene carefully phrased, her thick accent purposely feathering out her bribe. Gene was not expecting her offer to be turned down. Living as an isolate heiress, not many of her requests were turned down; and if they were, the promise of cash always changed their answer. Money had been the lubricant to her life so far, the underground drug trade she had ran through her father's house, the secret outside outtings with more risky servants and the ultimate pancea to all the issues she had come across.

She was aware that some facilities had repercussion if an individual on their campus is found to be in possession of drugs. She was also aware that large, anonymous donations often found a way of erasing evidence too. Gene did not fear discipline or repercussions because there was nothing that could be done to really affect her. Even corpral punishments were of null effect to Gene, who exhibited a spiteful contempt for her own life.

"--Ah, I'll pay you to covet the herion too.."Gene nonchalantly added, watching her roommate twiddled around the room like an animal in a cage with the malevonlent eyes of its' predator.

"I don't see why those are required. We remain civil and knock twice to clairify it is one of us who is going to enter the room...."

"I do not smell any cigarette smoke, and have not since entering this building. They probably make us smoke outside like the gardners..." Gene sighed heavily, gesturing at a fellow whom stood smoking outside of their window.

---

Like the gardners. Lynn's lip curled up a bit as her suspicions about Snakes' wealth and, just like all people with wealth, arrogance were confirmed. Yup. This was going to be a long ass year. And she was pretty up front about these illegal requests-shying right away from designer drugs. She'd pinned Snake for the type to take Mommy's happy pills, maybe take Adderall when she just couldn't possibly hope to finish her AP Homework in time. No, she'd gone for the real hitters. Lynn surveyed Snakes for a minute. It may have been the, well, snakes, but she had trouble gauging whether or not the girl was bullshitting here. Lynn typically had a pretty good filter for what was true and what was not-and, barring that, she tended to err on the side of everyone trying to screw her over.

It wasn't a happy way to live, but Lynn was still kicking, which was more than could be said of a decent number of her friends. Vaguely, Lynn wondered if they had access to TVs, if she could get a Chicago news channel on tomorrow. Check and see if she recognized any of the names scrolling across the bottom.

"Yeah, probably need to smoke outside," Lynn said, sliding the cigarettes back into her pocket. She grabbed her sweatshirt, engulfing her unhealthily thin frame underneath baggy cloth once more. She squirmed around in it a bit, reassured by the way it felt. The thing was old and faded to hell but damn if she didn't love it. That hoodie had seen some shit. She rolled up the sleeves, baring her tattooed forearms once again, and rolled her shoulders a bit. "I don't know what tihs all-inclusive vacation shit is, but I'll level with you. I'm hungry and not in the mood to beat around the bush. I can get my hands dirty. Not afraid of that. But something tells me if you and me both get pinned with something, your ass is gonna be able to afford a lot more lawyers than mine." She paused. "No offense. If you're throwing that high a risk my way there'd have to be one hell of a high reward, especially considering I'm up to my ass in risk as it is. Plus," she said, "I'm of the belief it never hurts to act like somebody's listening." she glanced at the walls, the window. "In a place like this, I figure it's pretty much a given. If they don't have cameras watching us, there's some superpowered sixth grader trying to mind-read the chicks in the floor above him. I'm not looking to get in anything deep. Not the first day." She paused, her voice feeling oddly tired. This...may have been the longest conversation she'd had in a little while. Last week or so had been a lot of paperwork for the Institute and the Man alike. She had a pretty neutral level of disdain for Snakes-anyone with a steady income garnered that from Lynn, and anyone who didn't have to worry about steady income especially so-but if there was money to be made down the line, who knew. Running drugs was something she'd done before-but the streets of Chicago and the Institute were two very, very different places. Lynn didn't trust people as a rule of thumb-so saying she would wait until she could trust Snakes would be fundamentally flawed-but until she could rely on her, well, that'd be a while. There was still one hell of a chance that Snakes was just stringing her along, and Lynn had played the puppet one too many times before.

Plus, well...Lynn's fingers danced at her sides, itching with anxiety.

There was a real chance of really fucking this up. She wasn't delusional-not in the conventional sense. Part of her had always assumed she could scrape by, she could roll with the punches. But Lynn was just getting older, and in a few months, she'd reach the milestone of eighteen years. This meant draft cards and registering to vote for most. In the circles she ran in, it usually meant you'd been in the ground for a while. She fucked up here, and her life expectancy lost a few decades. Wasn't much way to sugar coat it.

Going straight, well, that was....that was a lot. But going straighter. Maybe that wasn't so bad. Probation, damnit. Don't fuck this up Lynn. You have a bed. And food. There is a rich bitch trying to ruin this for you but you won't letter because you don't get played because you are motherfucking Cordelia Lynn Holmes. And, hey, there were kids here. Lynn liked kids. Getting a ring set up here might've pulled some major cash for her (probably pocket change for the Gucci-clad Medusa), but there were some real ugly risks strung up with that. "I'm headed to the cafeteria. Something about a feast? I'm starving, those fucks kept us waiting for that bus forever. So, yeah, catch you later."

Lynn grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulders, the familiar weight tugging at her shoulders. She was pretty good at finding her way around-Lynn spent a lot of time walking, wandering, and had developed a number of skills as second nature. Keeping track of where she was, that was a big one. No use getting lost in a shitty neighborhood. Always have a way out, that was a good rule to go by-and there was no way to go by that rule if you had no idea where you were. She found her way to the cafeteria relatively quickly-everyone and their dumbass brother was headed there, so it wasn't tricky to find.

And find it she did. Four years of wandering in the desert and she had been brought to the land of milk and honey. She....didn't have to pay for this shit. It was just included or whatever. Lynn stopped cold for a moment, just staring and taking it all in. Her face scrunched as she took in a comically deep breath through her nose, her scar wriggling as she just looked at the hustle and bustle, the sheer number of silver platters full of...food. Lynn did not cry. This was a rule, akin to the rule that things that go up must come down and the rule that any movie cop about to retire must die. She did not.

But if she were the type to cry, there would've been tears.

She walked forward hurriedly, forgetting her (admittedly unorthodox) brand of self-discipline in the light of all the splendors the cafeteria had to offer. There was just so much. Lynn didn't give a shit what it was, she piled her plate high with everything. She walked entirely down one of the buffets, forking meals onto her tray that made more than a few of the grown men in line stop and do a double-take. The normal woes of finding a spot to sit, having someone to sit with-she didn't give a shit. Hot meals were a luxury. Christ. This was...this was...

Going straighter was not that bad. It was even doable.

Lynn scanned the cafeteria quickly, her shrunken stomach unable to wait much longer. The others. They just ate idly, a few even glancing at their servings with disgust or irritation. How? How? Lynn walked quickly, her tray actually beginning to strain her arms a bit, as she found the silverware, haphazardly throwing utensils on. She grabbed a drink, didn't really give a shit what, and moved to the closest table. She slammed her tray down, looking at it with her mouthwatering and her eyes almost matching.

This....Christ. Sweet merciful Christ. This everyday? As often as she wanted? She could just...go and get more?

Lynn took a brief moment to say grace, which was something she had not done in many, many years-she and the Lord were not on the best of terms, but this seemed a just occasion to do so-and gave the table around her a quick lookover. She cursed her lack of situational awareness-she was normally good about staying alert, and she had entirely missed the dumbass who was standing on top of the table, asking about everyone's power. And there was...Cain? Kane? Ken? He'd been on the bus, Lynn remembered his face. She almost said something snappy to the table kid ("Mayo like the shark"? Huh? Lynn figured she misheard something) perhaps to question if he got his table-dancing tendencies from his mother, but remembered that time spent talking was time not spent eating.

With zero regard for etiquette, asking how everyone's days were, or the usual small talk, Lynn began devouring what was on her table, the tiny girl putting away almost as much as the rest of the table combined.