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    1. kisame12 11 yrs ago

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Just gonna leave this here for a little while I work on my character. Hope its ok! (let me know if there are issues)
Heyo, just letting you know I'm writing up both a race and character sheet. Hopefully will have it done tomorrow/today.
I'm pretty sure that would just result in the ocean catching fire. How? I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure that is how that would turn out.
So I just realized that Vince's powers (currently) over lap with two people. Evan and Tucker. I'm sure this will in no way impact anything. :3c
“I’m sorry I didn-“He tries to say, the door sliding closed behind Mary before he could get a word out. He stands there for a minute or two, not wanting to agitate her further by following her in. ”Good work Vincent…” he thinks sullenly, presenting his eye for the retinal scanner. ”Now not only do you not know where your stuff is, but you also look like a gigantic stalker or something...”

He entered the dorm. It was far nicer than what he was used to, but he was not about to complain. Insofar on this trip, this was the only good thing to happen. He quickly skulks off to the guys living area, wanting to claim a bed quickly. He chooses one close to the shower door, quietly opening the drawers, trying to figure out what to do. To his surprise he finds his clothes, neatly folded, inside his drawers, along with a small paper describing basic hygiene habits Puriel expected him to follow. ”Well…” he thought, slightly creeped out by the gesture (grateful as he was to have clean clothes for the first time in two years) ”At least that’s one…problem solved I guess” .

He decides to try and let it go, returning to the sitting area as a fit blonde man a few years older than him walks in, quickly rummaging through the kitchen. He starts to say something but bites back the words, remembering his earlier faux pas. Instead, he turns on the TV and sits on the couch, deciding it would probably best to let others come to him.
Vincent: Totally the /best/ judge of character. This person is totally trust worthy. /totally/
“I’m also in the Quebec barracks” he says, returning the fake smile with a far more genuine one. “I guess we’ll be sharing a room then huh?” He asks. There is a brief awkward pause where his mind registers what he just said aloud. He stammers quickly, “I mean uh, dorms. Not room rooms. That would be weird…um…sorry. English isn’t my first language.” He is suddenly thankful for the heat, as it partially covered the embarrassed flush currently spreading across his face.

He offers a hand for the older woman to shake, “My name is Vincent Myska. It’s um…nice to meet you.” He says, hoping to quickly move away from that slip up. After all, he had no idea how long he was going to be stuck on this island, so it would be nice to have at least a few people to hang out with. Even if the humidity did beat down on him like a jack hammer, it was leagues better than hitchhiking across Europe and barely making ends meet by doing street performances.
His power is actually infrasound based hypnotism. We are now all his mind slaves. Yay!~
Yeah, but the choice is generally between the addicts or the mentally unstable with most homeless people. Its not exactly a win win. You can at least reason with a drunk and they are cognitively 'there' enough to know how and who to get resources from. Meanwhile Jimmy is using spoons to contact his ancestors on Grimlock 4 in the Bylock system.

(Your right in that its not a /healthy/ or in fact /good/ choice. Its the lesser of two evils as it stands)
Vince flinched as Specter fell down the ramp. He flinched as the teacher (he assumed anyway.) barked loudly for attention. He flinched as the same man screamed out barrack assignments. In fact, there probably wasn’t much in that ten minute time frame where his current status did not contain the phrase ‘flinched at x’.

He raised his hand after HD finished, wanting to ask directions or where they pick up their luggage, only to be ignored. Slowly he retracts his arm, looking at his fellow students. They did not inspire much confidence. He takes a deep breath, trying to figure out what he should do. ”I…guess it is kind of like the homeless shelters back home…” he thinks, relaxing a bit as the familiar sensation of serene confusion(either by ignorance or dementia), and remembers rule number one of being homeless. The drunk know what they are doing and are the least dangerous.

He looks around somewhat frantically, figuring the odds of finding someone with alcohol being slim in this group. He sighs, relieved, as he spots a brunette with a bottle of hooch. He shuffles over quickly, trying not to lose her. “Um Excuse me miss!” He calls after her, his voice coming off more like a squeak than a demand. “Uh…you... wouldn’t know how we’re supposed to get our uh…bags and stuff right? Or…where the um…dorms are?”
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