New girl looking for a flock to join! {Open}

[font=courier]Name: edward daniels
Gender: male
Flock: none
Description: he's in his early twenties, and has had the opportunity to work on countless operations both in a hospital and in the school. he makes a point of hiding his eyes behind thick, geeky glasses, and keeping a rugged 5 o'clock shadow, which causes him to appear as if he hasn't slept for days on end. a few years of fleeing erasers and eating restaurant leftovers has given him a toned and muscular physique.
Personality: sarcastic, witty, and often very morbid, sometimes his flights of fancy take him beyond the troposphere and into places unknown. creepiness aside, he's quite kind.
Other: he's an ex-whitecoat. started experimenting on himself, and when his colleagues found out, they tried to stick him in a cage with the rest of the chimeras. betrayed, he escaped the institution in phoenix, texas, and came here in the hopes of joining up with one of the rebel flocks.

No service...[font=georgia] He stared at the dull, cracked screen of his cellphone. Just f*cking great--what had he been thinking, wandering around in a tattered lab coat and black dress pants in the middle of nowhere? He would be lucky if he didn't get mauled by a bear or eaten by a passing mountain lion. The wilds of Colorado were chockfull of those nasty beasts, or at least that was what the brochure had said. It was currently resting in his hand, but it had come a long way--from its plastic stand at the grime-stained window of a rundown Seven Eleven in the slums of Houston, Texas to be exact. He had picked it up on a whim, thought he could use a nice vacation somewhere close but not too touristy. Who knew that things would've ended up the way it had? God had a hideous sense of humor.

He straggled along an old Native American trail, following the path of least resistance as he scaled the steep valley slope. His patent leather loafers had been worn down into the soles from days upon days of constant walking, and though his pace had considerably slackened over the last few hours (what with the rain and all) Edward absolutely refused to toss them away. They simply held too many memories of a past life spent in luxury and fame. If they were gone, he felt he would lose the last fringes of a hope that somehow things would go back to the way they were before. Of course he knew that they wouldn't, but this desperate hope was the only thing left that was driving him forward. Without it, he'd be lost in a well of self-pity and despair.

It was when he had reached the top of the hill that he saw the lights. He could feel the gears of his mind churning as he thought: lights equaled electricity; electricity equaled house; house equaled food, water and shelter. He would've jumped for joy if he had had the energy, but what remnants of strength were left were just enough to see him safely at the door of a squat and pleasant-looking cottage. Without a second's hesitation, he knocked.

[font=georgia]"Please, help. I need food." He looked like a caveman from 10000 BC--what with his hollow eyes, dark, scraggly hair, and ragged coat. He was feeling like one too. One that had missed out on five meals and had been pandering about on foot in a prehistoric forest without GPS or any phone service. "Please."

[font=georgia]"Thank you," he managed to croak, shuffling inside. The fluorescent lighting hurt his eyes, and he placed his hand on his forehead to shade them as he felt his way to the kitchen. The smell of baking soda and grease residue was obvious enough to point him in the right direction--to the stove--and beside a stove, out of more chances than one, there would be a refrigerator. He groped the wallpaper blindly with his free hand.

[font=georgia]He was reluctant to leave the spot where the smell of raw meat was so tantalizingly close, but he let his host hold his hand and lead him like an obedient lamb to the sacrificial rock. "Meat," he grumbled irritably, folding his arms over his chest. He was in serious need of a shave, and Rose had guessed rightly--a bath. Consequently he stunk like a garbage disposal... that had been left out in the desert sun for a week.

[font=georgia]"Eight," he said, reinforcing her suspicions. "Please."

[size=1]the woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but i have promises to keep,
and miles to go before i sleep[/size]
[font=georgia]
"A gallon of Gatorade would suit me fine. I need the electrolytes," he said, coughing dismally into his open hand. Edward was feeling absolutely miserable--it took all of his control and self-restraint not to attack the stove and gobble down the steak raw. In an effort to make small talk--and keep himself distracted from the mouthwatering aroma of meat--he ventured a, "Do you live alone here? In the Colorado wilderness?"

[size=1]the woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but i have promises to keep,
and miles to go before i sleep[/size]
[font=georgia]
Edward did not listen to her silly talk about forks and knives. He was a man--a starving man--and he gobbled and scarfed and stuffed all eight steaks in a record of twelve seconds flat. God, this super metabolism was a real setback. Wiping his mouth on the tablecloth before quaffing down the Gatorade--he wasn't even sure why he had bothered to tidy up in the first place--Edward somehow managed to drain the bottle in three mighty gulps.

When he was at last finished, he reclined against his seat and patted his stomach, still as flat as a plane, in a contented manner. "That was the best," he said, then stifled a large burp in his fist. "Ah, and you were saying that you've been living alone here for a few years? Shouldn't you be more wary of strangers, especially strange men? But don't worry about me, I'm not interested in you for that. What I am interested in is whether or not you have seen," and here he leaned over the table and continued in a confiding whisper, "winged people?"