An immortal was always the last one to arrive. It was simply how it had always been done. It was the subtlest way to tell everyone around you that time was, for an eternity, on your side. A toothpick dangled from between Jesse's lips as he took his first step onto the campus, moving past the bus that a gargantuan student who smelled faintly of death stepped out of. Until recently, a cigarette would have been hanging from his lips, though he had finally kicked the habit, not that there was one a particular physical dependency. It was purely mental, his newest persona coming with the bizarre development of an oral fixation. He had to have something in his mouth which had been a hit back in New York in the club scene, though this wasn't New York and these people weren't trashy fucks who would get all giddy if you could tie a knot with a cherry stem. Jesse rolled his eyes at himself and his train of though, shifting the weight of his rucksack that hung over his shoulder.

The blonde haired 'boy' had everything he needed with him really. A few changes of clothing, his current I.D., a fistful of cash he shoved into a sock, and his debit card. Cash was never a problem though and probably wouldn't be in his soon to be home for the time being. Already though, Jesse began to form the idea idea that he wasn't necessarily a [i]mythic[/i] like the others here. There were plenty of people who were clearly born into their races and here he was, having become a 'mythic' through killing and drinking the blood of another. Jesse kept his thoughts to himself, giving a slow look around at the crowd. He needed to talk with someone now, otherwise it'd be a bitch making friends later on. He decided to take the most passive route, deciding he'd talk to whoever he encountered first, finding himself upon the monstrosity from earlier moments later. Some greater power was having a laugh at Jesse's expense right now and he fucking knew it.

"Hey Frank," the immortal said, slapping the gargantuan who carried the faint scent of death with him like a herald on the back, "Name's Jesse," he offered a hand to the behemoth of a.... 'man', not all that worried about having his hand crushed by the giant's grip, "I'm guessin' you were put back together after somethin' particularly nasty happened, eh?" Jesse wanted to ask what it was like to leave his body, even if only for a second. He longed to demand an explanation from the remake of Frankenstein's monster of what it was like to leave the shackles of the human body and be free to enter the void of nothingness that is the death of one's mind, but Jesse always reminded himself to be calm. If he and Frankenstein's monster hit it off well enough, perhaps one day he could probe his mind. If it was just [hi]his[/i] mind. Jesse was nearing his second millennium of life and, in truth, the idea of death was sickeningly appealing to him from time to time. And of course now stood before him the very testament to death itself.