Member
Damien Chattaway
Damien was waiting along with the other impeccable adolescents he was currently dormed with at this time. He wasn't waiting because he wanted too; but simply because there wasn't yet a consensus on who was driving. Now as a man made notable primarily for his vices and what have you, he didn't see much point in getting up so early without reason. What he had overlooked is that there was, in fact, a reason for getting up and leaving, he just hadn't quite seen it yet. He wouldn't be able to appreciate his fellow roommates badgering him to get up until much later, when he had a cold mocha firmly clasped in one hand and was caffeinated enough to string together reasonable logic in that sequestered head space of his.
Another thing Damien felt concerned with at the moment was the fact that without makeup covering every square inch of his face, he felt imperfect, deficient. The fact that he woke up so late was the main reason that he wasn't able to get to the restroom before the others and properly hide his face behind a mask of concealer. This, however, wasn't something that quite crossed his mind, as the general emotional volatility he was experiencing right now (which one could attribute to early morning crankiness) overrode any thought on causation and perspectives. The fact was that he was feeling insecure and didn't like it. It wasn't even that he was exceptionally poor looking (insert an obligatory "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" here) it was just the fact that he deemed himself to be plain without any sort of outrageous accentuation. He thought of himself as an extraordinary character, so he needed a matching extraordinary appearance to match. This incongruence along with other underlying insecurities, was the root of his unhappiness.
He didn't think about how wearing more makeup could possibly contribute to his eroding sense of esteem, only that he was currently feeling bad and the only way (the most direct one, anyways) to remedy this uncomfortable feeling was by lathering layers of foundation, concealer, blush, and fine mascara. In truth, it was only a temporary fix, but as an impetuous creature, Damien was only looking for a temporary solution anyways, so all was well.
"Well then by your definition of law abiding, I would be more than qualified to drive as well," Damien found Kejirah's sense of sarcasm amusing and decided to play along.
"The only problem is that I don't own a car. Otherwise I'd be golden." He folded his arms in front of him and looked off to the side while Kejirah searched for her keys.
Bradley's casual suggestion about throwing a party was what really caught Damien's attention. The opportunity to engage in sanctioned reckless activities was too good to resist. "A party? Well I'm certain you won't mind if I come along," He reached his hand into his pocket, probing for something. However, he couldn't find it, and a dawning realization manifested across his face for a split second before he curtly turned and walked back into his room.
He emerged a few minutes later taking a drag off his vape, seemingly satisfied.
