Posts by Smartii

[glow=black,2,300]Welcome to your life,[/glow]

[fancypost borderwidth=0px; font-family: georgia; color: black; overflow: auto; height: 200px; width: 400px; text-align: justify;]
[size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]Name[/glow]
Adrian Hunter Blake
[glow=black,2,300]Nickname[/glow]
Blake
[glow=black,2,300]Gender[/glow]
Male
[glow=black,2,300]Age[/glow]
Twenty-three
[glow=black,2,300]Date of Birth[/glow]
May Thirtieth
[glow=black,2,300]Place of Birth[/glow]
British Columbia, Canada
[glow=black,2,300]Descent[/glow]
Canadian, Greek and French
[glow=black,2,300]Sexuality[/glow]
Hetero
[glow=black,2,300]Themesong[/glow]
'Everybody Wants to Rule the World', by Aaron Wright.[/fancypost]

[glow=black,2,300]There's not turning back.[/glow]

[fancypost borderwidth=0px; font-family: georgia; color: black; overflow: auto; height: 200px; width: 400px; text-align: justify;][size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]General Appearance[/glow]
There's a certain air around looming sky-scrapers, one demanding to be noticed. An air, similar to that around Blake. Towering heights, a stocky build, it all just.. strikes immediate intimidation really.
His impressive standing isn't one he loathes, however, as it suits him in every way. Doubled with his firm build, he almost seems sculpted of 'hammered gold and gold enameling', something to found on a pedestal in the center of the Great Hall atop Mt Olympus. Almost.

Shoulders, broadened over the years, arms and legs toned lean, and a torso of rocked muscles, it's as if the guy resides only in the gym. It all contributes to the aforementioned intimidating air.

Captivating azure-blue, though at times borderline greyish, eyes are indeed that, captivating. Beginning a deep, stormy grey around his pupils, and also at the outer rims of his irises, the shade and colour change drastically travelling inward, reaching a shade of light blue, that though unexpected, all the complimentary. Very faint purple flecks slightly brighten the constantly thoughtful grey shade of his eyes, but are only seen in certain lights.
It's just as well that his locks don a darker, brown shade, almost completely darkening his appearance. Dark, bistre-brown hair, with natural, very indistinct lighter highlights, decorates Blake's crown, usually in its dishevelled glory.

A hard-chiseled jaw and cheekbones, rather angular features, complete his dark and mysterious appearance. Summing him up perfectly.
[glow=black,2,300]Height[/glow]
Six foot four inches
[glow=black,2,300]Weight[/glow]
One hundred and seventy-two pounds
[glow=black,2,300]Body Modifications[/glow]
[glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow] [glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow]
[glow=black,2,300]Garb[/glow]
[glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow] [glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow] [glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow] [glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow][/fancypost]

[font=georgia][size=14][glow=black,2,300]Even while we sleep,[/glow][/size]

[fancypost borderwidth=0px; font-family: georgia; color: black; overflow: auto; height: 200px; width: 400px; text-align: justify;]
[font=georgia][size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]Spirit Animal[/glow]
Wolf
[glow=black,2,300]Personality[/glow]
It becomes clear, almost instantly after initially meeting Blake, that he is very much an introverted individual. He tends to keep to himself, and is often pegged as the mysterious type in cases where his persona is still undiscovered. The boy is of the sort, that catches ones eye not because he is all over the place, but purely the opposite, his near ominous and mysterious yet impressive and alluring air, being rather difficult to miss.

Patient

Lazy

Self-centered

Jealous

Witty[/fancypost]

[font=georgia][size=14][glow=black,2,300]We will find you[/glow][/size]

[fancypost borderwidth=0px; font-family: georgia; color: black; overflow: auto; height: 200px; width: 400px; text-align: justify;]
[font=georgia][size=7pt][color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Brief History[/glow]
Work in progress.
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Family[/glow]
Work in progress.
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Love Interest[/glow]
To be discovered.
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Et cetera[/glow]
This roleplay is beautiful![/fancypost]

[size=7pt]crying because i need this roleplay in my life, and i'm on hols for a month and don't know if i can write consistently enough, but i seriously need this advanced dragon-centered piece of awesomeness in my life, if it's the only roleplay i do, because i just do.

i realise there's a good chance that made no sense at all, but yeah, trying for shiloh's character, with every bit of free time i have! hahah lawl..[/size]

Welcome to your life,

[size=7pt][glow=black,2,300][size=20pt]A[/size][/glow] mild evening, as Winter's fervorless sun was mid-set, and the air around the quaint village still, something not-so-ordinary happened in an ordinary cottage, among an ordinary family. Elian. That's it, put as blunt and direct as the little boy himself, or rather the person he would grow up to be. Unexpectedly, as is always the case with him, Elian more or less forced Mother Nolita into labor, crowned and was born into an already tight and tight-knit family of parents; Pell and Nolita, and five children; Jira, Aurio, Simme, Raph and Lia. Pell and Nolita made sure he was the last. What made the birth of this "last child" not-so-ordinary, however, wasn't that it was unexpected, but rather what happened afterwards.

There's not turning back.

Even while we sleep,

[font=georgia][color=#cfcfcf][size=8]We will find you[/size]

Welcome to your life,

[size=7pt][glow=black,2,300][size=20pt]A[/size][/glow] mild evening, as Winter's fervorless sun was mid-set, and the air around the quaint village still, something not-so-ordinary happened in an ordinary cottage, among an ordinary family. Elian. That's it, put as blunt and direct as the little boy himself, or rather the person he would grow up to be. Unexpectedly, as is always the case with him, Elian more or less forced Mother Nolita into labor, crowned and was born into an already tight and tight-knit family of parents; Pell and Nolita, and five children; Jira, Aurio, Simme, Raph and Lia. Pell and Nolita made sure he was the last. What made the birth of this "last child" not-so-ordinary, however, wasn't that it was unexpected, but rather what happened afterwards.

There's not turning back.

Even while we sleep,

[font=georgia][color=#cfcfcf][size=8]We will find you[/size]

[glow=black,2,300]Wide awake, it all gets so hard,[/glow]

[size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]Name[/glow]
Nathan Isaac Devans
[glow=black,2,300]Nickname[/glow]
Nate
[glow=black,2,300]Gender[/glow]
Male
[glow=black,2,300]Age[/glow]
Twenty-two
[glow=black,2,300]Date of Birth[/glow]
December Thirtieth
[glow=black,2,300]Place of Birth[/glow]
Scottsdale, Arizona
[glow=black,2,300]Descent[/glow]
American and French
[glow=black,2,300]Sexuality[/glow]
Hetero
[glow=black,2,300]Themesong[/glow]
'Make A Shadow', by Meg Myers.

[glow=black,2,300]Will you take my hand and make a shadow?[/glow]

[size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]General Appearance[/glow]
There's a certain air around looming sky-scrapers, one demanding to be noticed. An air, similar to that around Nate. Towering heights, a stocky build, it all just.. strikes immediate intimidation really.
His impressive standing isn't one he loathes, however, as it suits him in every way. Doubled with his firm build, he almost seems sculpted of 'hammered gold and gold enameling', something to found on a pedestal in the center of the Great Hall atop Mt Olympus. Almost.

Shoulders, broadened over the years, arms and legs toned lean, and a torso of rocked muscles, it's as if the guy resides only in the gym. It all contributes to the aforementioned intimidating air.

Captivating azure-blue, though at times borderline greyish, eyes are indeed that, captivating. Beginning a deep, stormy grey around his pupils, and also at the outer rims of his irises, the shade and colour change drastically travelling inward, reaching a shade of light blue, that though unexpected, all the complimentary. Very faint purple flecks slightly brighten the constantly thoughtful grey shade of his eyes, but are only seen in certain lights.
It's just as well that his close-cropped locks don a darker, brown shade, so as to further compliment his pales of his eyes. Bistre-brown hair, with a natural monotone, decorates Nate's crown, usually in its short and close-cropped glory, just the way he likes it.

A hard-chiseled jaw and cheekbones, rather angular features, complete his dark and mysterious appearance. Summing him up perfectly.
[glow=black,2,300]Height[/glow]
6'3
[glow=black,2,300]Weight[/glow]
160 lbs
[glow=black,2,300]Garb[/glow]
[glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow] [glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow] [glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow]

[size=14][glow=black,2,300]Little, I want to be a kid again.[/glow][/size]

[font=georgia][size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]Skill[/glow]
The Cook
[glow=black,2,300]Personality[/glow]
Nate's independence in one of the first, if not the initial, aspects of his enthralling persona that one notices. He is a free spirit, unable to be corralled and utterly refusing to be dissuaded from his beliefs. Clearly, he's stubborn. Even in times of true and desperate need, it is somewhat of a challenge for him to ask for the help of someone who knows him, fearing it would prove nothing other than a highlight of his weaknesses. His fiery personality is extremely alluring, constantly emitting confidence and strength. As aforementioned, Nate is an exuberant and easy-going entity, constantly in search of thrill-inducing encounters. He is an adrenaline junky of sorts, usually going for something with his soul intent being to gain some kind of rush of excitement. Which can prove a negative feature as much as it can a positive. The boy enjoys nothing more than being in control, feeling as if he harbours the strength of ten men.

Nate sports a nonchalant attitude toward most things in his life, choosing not to live in the past, but ignore it, and move onto the next chapter of his life. Always moving, and ignoring. always.
It all stems from the disbelief in his ability to compose himself under pressured situations, continuously thinking that instead of buckling and failing, he'd rather not even try. Despite the nonchalance, however, it's no secret that Dustin is infuriatingly impatient. Now. Now. Now. It doesn't help that he, undeniably, has ravishing good looks and a cheeky sparkle in his eyes, as it has become something of a second nature to him, manipulating people to get whatever it is his eyes are set on.

Despite his obvious potential in certain fields, Nate is still uncommitted toward more than just the professional aspect of his life. His unfortunate tendency to grow bored incredibly quickly renders his attention a tendril of smoke, forever wavering in the oppressive winds, guided by whatever amusing force willing to lead the way and consequently, most projects he is ambitious toward in the beginning remain unfinished. This then fuels his desire to create his own fun, a Nate-made source of entertainment seeing as outside factors have seemingly failed in said department. His unyielding need to procure said entertainment intersects with his sanity, and he he is known, as a result, to sometimes humour himself at the expense of others.

Also in the lengthy list of flaws the boy has been known to put on display from time to time, is his annoying pessimism. Though he justifies it as being realistic, is spawns from childhood disappointments. Let down after let down forced him to go through adaptation, form some sort of mechanism that would aid him in fending off the disappointment and other emotions of the like, which trail after having hopes crushed. He is aware of his naivety and fragility, disapproving but aware, and so, refuses to allow the raising of his hopes, or if they had been raised unintentionally, he makes sure not to show it. So he is not disappointed. He is not hurt.

Despite all the faults and flaws, the weaknesses of his being, Nate is truly a caring soul, though it may be difficult for him to admit in the hopes of avoiding any awkwardness that may arise. He is a loving soul in an ever-hardened shell, a protective façade shielding him from the dangers and disappointments of the outside world. The boy is extremely loving, though only to those he hold dear to his heart.

[font=georgia][size=14][glow=black,2,300]Little, don't tell me this is home.[/glow][/size]

[font=georgia][size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]History[/glow]
Not much of a story to tell here, in all honesty. Well, perhaps that's not exactly true. There are bits and pieces, each representing a different time in his life, all over the States.

Okay. Nate is a foster kid. Most would disagree; he's well past the age of such consideration at this point, but you never escape a label like that. A childhood like that. A childhood spent moving every six months, sometimes not even, because your parents were drunks or prison inmates who were deemed incapable of taking care of you, and none of the families you were stuck with wanted to keep you.
At least, that was Nate's jig-saw of a childhood anyway.

His last foster home lasted much longer than any of the others; around four years if he remembered correctly. But the happy ending your expecting ended there. His foster-Dad, single might I add, was more or less a replica of his birth-Father, both beginning and ending their days drowning in liquor. By that time Nate had already closed himself off from the world, refusing to care, embracing the loneliness, and accepting that the world was hard. He took care of himself, particularly taking to working in the kitchen, his hands working faster than his mind could even register.

Post High school, he hopped on his bike and sped to God knows where, exhaust fumes trailing in his wake. Happening across Rocky's, he soon found himself accepting a gig as the cook, and started renting a small place at the Canizales Motel.
It's not much, but it's a start for him.
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Family[/glow]
Isaac Devans; Birth-Father; Prison inmate
Emily Devans; Birth-Mother; 'Incapable' drunk
Luke Johnson; Last foster-Father; Businessman
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Love Interest[/glow]
Jenny
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Friends[/glow]
Nate doesn't exactly have 'friends' so to speak.
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Et cetera[/glow]
Here's to hoping this works out!

[glow=black,2,300]Wide awake, it all gets so hard,[/glow]

[size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]Name[/glow]
Nathan Isaac Devans
[glow=black,2,300]Nickname[/glow]
Nate
[glow=black,2,300]Gender[/glow]
Male
[glow=black,2,300]Age[/glow]
Twenty-two
[glow=black,2,300]Date of Birth[/glow]
December Thirtieth
[glow=black,2,300]Place of Birth[/glow]
Scottsdale, Arizona
[glow=black,2,300]Descent[/glow]
American and French
[glow=black,2,300]Sexuality[/glow]
Hetero
[glow=black,2,300]Themesong[/glow]
'Make A Shadow', by Meg Myers.

[glow=black,2,300]Will you take my hand and make a shadow?[/glow]

[size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]General Appearance[/glow]
There's a certain air around looming sky-scrapers, one demanding to be noticed. An air, similar to that around Nate. Towering heights, a stocky build, it all just.. strikes immediate intimidation really.
His impressive standing isn't one he loathes, however, as it suits him in every way. Doubled with his firm build, he almost seems sculpted of 'hammered gold and gold enameling', something to found on a pedestal in the center of the Great Hall atop Mt Olympus. Almost.

Shoulders, broadened over the years, arms and legs toned lean, and a torso of rocked muscles, it's as if the guy resides only in the gym. It all contributes to the aforementioned intimidating air.

Captivating azure-blue, though at times borderline greyish, eyes are indeed that, captivating. Beginning a deep, stormy grey around his pupils, and also at the outer rims of his irises, the shade and colour change drastically travelling inward, reaching a shade of light blue, that though unexpected, all the complimentary. Very faint purple flecks slightly brighten the constantly thoughtful grey shade of his eyes, but are only seen in certain lights.
It's just as well that his close-cropped locks don a darker, brown shade, so as to further compliment his pales of his eyes. Bistre-brown hair, with a natural monotone, decorates Nate's crown, usually in its short and close-cropped glory, just the way he likes it.

A hard-chiseled jaw and cheekbones, rather angular features, complete his dark and mysterious appearance. Summing him up perfectly.
[glow=black,2,300]Height[/glow]
6'3
[glow=black,2,300]Weight[/glow]
160 lbs
[glow=black,2,300]Garb[/glow]
[glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow] [glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow] [glow=grey,2,300]o[/glow]

[size=14][glow=black,2,300]Little, I want to be a kid again.[/glow][/size]

[font=georgia][size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]Skill[/glow]
The Cook
[glow=black,2,300]Personality[/glow]
Nate's independence in one of the first, if not the initial, aspects of his enthralling persona that one notices. He is a free spirit, unable to be corralled and utterly refusing to be dissuaded from his beliefs. Clearly, he's stubborn. Even in times of true and desperate need, it is somewhat of a challenge for him to ask for the help of someone who knows him, fearing it would prove nothing other than a highlight of his weaknesses. His fiery personality is extremely alluring, constantly emitting confidence and strength. As aforementioned, Nate is an exuberant and easy-going entity, constantly in search of thrill-inducing encounters. He is an adrenaline junky of sorts, usually going for something with his soul intent being to gain some kind of rush of excitement. Which can prove a negative feature as much as it can a positive. The boy enjoys nothing more than being in control, feeling as if he harbours the strength of ten men.

Nate sports a nonchalant attitude toward most things in his life, choosing not to live in the past, but ignore it, and move onto the next chapter of his life. Always moving, and ignoring. always.
It all stems from the disbelief in his ability to compose himself under pressured situations, continuously thinking that instead of buckling and failing, he'd rather not even try. Despite the nonchalance, however, it's no secret that Dustin is infuriatingly impatient. Now. Now. Now. It doesn't help that he, undeniably, has ravishing good looks and a cheeky sparkle in his eyes, as it has become something of a second nature to him, manipulating people to get whatever it is his eyes are set on.

Despite his obvious potential in certain fields, Nate is still uncommitted toward more than just the professional aspect of his life. His unfortunate tendency to grow bored incredibly quickly renders his attention a tendril of smoke, forever wavering in the oppressive winds, guided by whatever amusing force willing to lead the way and consequently, most projects he is ambitious toward in the beginning remain unfinished. This then fuels his desire to create his own fun, a Nate-made source of entertainment seeing as outside factors have seemingly failed in said department. His unyielding need to procure said entertainment intersects with his sanity, and he he is known, as a result, to sometimes humour himself at the expense of others.

Also in the lengthy list of flaws the boy has been known to put on display from time to time, is his annoying pessimism. Though he justifies it as being realistic, is spawns from childhood disappointments. Let down after let down forced him to go through adaptation, form some sort of mechanism that would aid him in fending off the disappointment and other emotions of the like, which trail after having hopes crushed. He is aware of his naivety and fragility, disapproving but aware, and so, refuses to allow the raising of his hopes, or if they had been raised unintentionally, he makes sure not to show it. So he is not disappointed. He is not hurt.

Despite all the faults and flaws, the weaknesses of his being, Nate is truly a caring soul, though it may be difficult for him to admit in the hopes of avoiding any awkwardness that may arise. He is a loving soul in an ever-hardened shell, a protective façade shielding him from the dangers and disappointments of the outside world. The boy is extremely loving, though only to those he hold dear to his heart.

[font=georgia][size=14][glow=black,2,300]Little, don't tell me this is home.[/glow][/size]

[font=georgia][size=7pt][glow=black,2,300]History[/glow]
Not much of a story to tell here, in all honesty. Well, perhaps that's not exactly true. There are bits and pieces, each representing a different time in his life, all over the States.

Okay. Nate is a foster kid. Most would disagree; he's well past the age of such consideration at this point, but you never escape a label like that. A childhood like that. A childhood spent moving every six months, sometimes not even, because your parents were drunks or prison inmates who were deemed incapable of taking care of you, and none of the families you were stuck with wanted to keep you.
At least, that was Nate's jig-saw of a childhood anyway.

His last foster home lasted much longer than any of the others; around four years if he remembered correctly. But the happy ending your expecting ended there. His foster-Dad, single might I add, was more or less a replica of his birth-Father, both beginning and ending their days drowning in liquor. By that time Nate had already closed himself off from the world, refusing to care, embracing the loneliness, and accepting that the world was hard. He took care of himself, particularly taking to working in the kitchen, his hands working faster than his mind could even register.

Post High school, he hopped on his bike and sped to God knows where, exhaust fumes trailing in his wake. Happening across Rocky's, he soon found himself accepting a gig as the cook, and started renting a small place at the Canizales Motel.
It's not much, but it's a start for him.
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Family[/glow]
Isaac Devans; Birth-Father; Prison inmate
Emily Devans; Birth-Mother; 'Incapable' drunk
Luke Johnson; Last foster-Father; Businessman
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Love Interest[/glow]
Jenny
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Friends[/glow]
Nate doesn't exactly have 'friends' so to speak.
[color=grey][glow=black,2,300]Et cetera[/glow]
Here's to hoping this works out!

[img width=250]http://oi58.tinypic.com/zjjlp0.jpg[/img]

[size=7pt]Building[/size]
[size=7pt]Cafe[/size]
[size=7pt]Dormrooms[/size]
[size=7pt]Library[/size]
[size=7pt]Swimming Pool[/size]
[size=7pt]Art Studio[/size]
[size=7pt]Gym[/size]
[size=7pt]Theatre[/size]

[size=7pt]"Deux croissaint avec du beurre et un verre de jus orange, s'il vous plait."
My voice rang in an obvious native French accent as I gave the man my order. I'd been ordering the same breakfast in the school's cafe every morning of my student career at the place, and by now the chef probably didn't even need to ask. But I liked routine. What else keeps people sane in highschool?

Yep. Schooling in Paris; a freaking dream for most young people, even for us French. I'll be the first to admit that my country's pride swells like none other, and it's quite funny hearing how everyone else sees us as pompous assholes. But my school isn't your typical French highschool. Anything but, really. At The Academy of France, very few French students are actually accepted, leaving enough room for students from all over the world. And because the elitism of the Academy's system, it's either you have perfect grades to get in, or you have connections. I was the latter.

My mind wanders to my Cardiovascular surgeon of a Father and world-renowned writer of a Mother, who also went to school here, as I settle down onto a vacant table. It's pretty early, so I wouldn't expect many to be awake and ready for breakfast just yet. I'm always early, it's part of my routine, and there's no messing with the routine, you know?
Anyway, my parents. They're how I got it, how my older brother got in two years before me, and how my little sister will get in next year. Not that I don't have perfect grades. I probably would have been accepted on that basis, had my parents not been best friends with the headmaster and because of how the system works, most students are usually the stuck-up rich kids nobody but the stuck-up rich kids, like. I'd probably fit right in with that crowd, expect for the fact that I really don't want to. I've figured, over the previous three years here, that I'm better off on my own.
Without the weekend partying and drowning in alcohol.
Alone.
It's my routine.

I set my tray down and raise my eyes to the crowd coming through the cafe's double doors. An amused half-chuckle escapes me as my eyes follow the blonde at the head of the crowd. She's a senior, like me, and clearly the 'life of a party' kind of girl. You can just tell. And she undeniably sexy, but I think I'll keep that one to myself.
I remember spotting her in the crowd of twenty-five seniors yesterday at registration, but familiarity ends there.
She must be new.

After having devoured my breakfast, I go to empty the tray and spot her again as she leaves the line, her own tray stocked with food. Our eyes catch and the corner of my mouth lifts subtly with curiosity at the girl, and I watch her smile back.

This is going to be an interesting year. I think to myself as I tear my eyes from her and leave the cafe, back-pack over right shoulder and a familiar quickness to my step.

That gaze wasn't in my routine.[/size]

[img width=250]http://oi58.tinypic.com/zjjlp0.jpg[/img]

[size=7pt]Building[/size]
[size=7pt]Cafe[/size]
[size=7pt]Dormrooms[/size]
[size=7pt]Library[/size]
[size=7pt]Swimming Pool[/size]
[size=7pt]Art Studio[/size]
[size=7pt]Gym[/size]
[size=7pt]Theatre[/size]

[size=7pt]My little hint of a smile kept as I pushed through the double doors, and almost through myself into the hallway. God, was I walking that fast? My cheeks daring to darken as I mull the thought over, not quite sure what to make of it. I'm always a fast walker, it's probably linked to my ADD. No, definitely linked to my ADD, but something about that moment felt strange. Was I running away from her? The new thought bringing back the half-chuckle of my first spotting her and her group, and it grows to a brief, very amused laugh.
Nah, that wasn't it.

I feel the soft pads of my fingers against my jean trousers as I force myself to slow to a stroll.

Tapping.

Tapping.

I just can't keep still for a second can I?
I was around eleven when I was diagnosed with both ADD and OCD. To this day, hearing the Doctor speak those words still makes me laugh. Back then I hadn't a clue what they meant, naturally, but when Mum sat me down for a talk afterwards - walking me through the medication I'd have to take, and telling me I'd need to knuckle down because there's no room for lack of attention in her house, especially if I wanted to get into a good school - it was all I could do to focus on her words, and that wasn't even working. Was I sick or something? I didn't feel sick. So instead of bearing down on what she said and trying to make heads and tails of it, I put my attention to the fact that this was probably the longest my Mother had ever been in a conversation with me. Most previous ones would end abruptly with a bleep of her pager and a "They need me in the hospital", and I'd gotten used to it. I understood it. It was my routine. That was when I realised how I'd handle both the disorders that I had. I'd make a routine. My OCD would have to stick to it, and if I took my pills, my ADD would have to comply, right? It's been working ever since so I guess that was good. In all honesty, it didn't have any other choice but to work, or my parents would get involved and when they get involved is when I have my low points.

Left.

Left.

Right.

Left

and straight down.

When I first came to the school three years ago, it was somewhat of a task to keep my attention long enough to remember the ways around the school. So what I'd do was remember the turns I took. From the school's cafe to the dorms it was left, left, right, left and straight down, and the opposite way was vice versa. It's a good thing my memory is eidetic, or those series of turns would be jumbled by now, lost in the swelling mass of nonsense in my head at all times. And I'd be just as lost.
But it's all good, and I make my way up three flights of stairs to my floor, the top floor. We don't have roommates here, because our numbers in the highschool aren't very big - twenty-five in each year group to be exact - and because there are two dorm buildings, one for Freshmen and Sophmores and this one, for Juniors and Seniors. They're exactly identical though, but at weekends you'd be able to distinct the two by the noise of Senior parties. There's a BM - Building Manager - in each building 'keeping everything in check' but they're just a few years older than us and usually turn a blind eye when it comes to parties, as long as it doesn't get too crazy. I can't help but think of how stupid that is. If the party does get too crazy, he'll be the one being punished. Oh yeah, our BM is a twenty-four year old 'artist' called James and almost all of the senior girls fawn over him.
I wonder if that girl fawns over him.

Turning the key in the lock, I slip into my dormroom and grab my forgotten schedule, my eyes pouring over it's details. As we do ever year, we have six classes, all an hour long, with an hour break in-between. Since classes start pretty early, we get off at three o'clock, then free to do whatever we want, as long as 'whatever we want' includes homework obviously. It's funny how schools always manage to turn freedom on its head, but I don't complain, at least we can sit under the Eiffel Tower while we do it, or at a cafe, looking out over the River Seine.

Hurrying my pace to get to the actual school building before first period, I lower my gaze to, once again, glance at my schedule. Art in room fifteen, my eyes take in the information, and my feet start, of their own accord, toward the classroom, that familiar half-hurrying pace biting into my step. I don't have the chance to look up before it happens.
I crash into another body, hearing the slapping of hardcover books as they fall the floor. I immediately crouch to the ground, my hands working to pick up the books, when my eyes lift to the sight of just a few minutes ago. It's the girl, the incredibly good-looking transfer of the cafeteria. The recognition is instant, and I gather the remaining books before standing and uttering in my lowish rumble of a voice.

"Desole"
I say in my instinctive tongue, before realising she might not speak French and trying again in English, since knowledge of the English language is a requirement for all students attending the Academy.
"Sorry"
And it's accompanied by another soft half-chuckle.

I hand her the books, catching the gaze of her beautiful sky-blue eyes in striking blue-grey of my own, and my right hand takes to it's habitual state of tapping against my leg. I hope it doesn't make me look nervous, because I'm not nervous. Right? In this moment it's particularly hard to concentrate on my forming thoughts when her eyes are so alluring, almost effortlessly catching my attention and peaking my interest. I hear her mumble of a response, or maybe it was just a mumble because I wasn't paying attention, before realisation strikes and steels my gut. Clearing my throat and Making sure the books are securely in her grasp, I turn and continue the few feet to the Art room's door.

I know her type.

Beautiful, sexy, but dangerous.

Danger isn't in my routine.
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