(This first post is the exact same as the one in the interest check board)
Darcy watched the raindrops streak across the window pane, looking beyond at the roadside where the puddles reflected the light of the ascending sun in a watery image of oranges and reds, distorted and blended together in a swirl of colour. She had never seen the world at this hour before, usually being very much asleep when the sun rose to start the day, and was quite taken aback by how very beautiful the morning could be. The weather, however, was so atrocious that the rain pelting against the roof of the car and the howling of the wind drowned out the music being played over the radio, along with anything said by her parents sitting in the front seats who would occasionally turn to offer her an encouraging smile or to wave a bag of mints in her direction. Not that Darcy minded the noise, it even helped to calm her nerves somewhat, even if just a little. Ever since she was a child, right up to this day, she had been lulled soundly to sleep by the rhythm of rainfall pattering over her head when she was warm and safe inside, and although she was nowhere near to feeling drowsy anymore, she wasn’t quite at a nail-biting stage of fear either. She was packed tightly into the back seat of the car, wedged between two huge suitcases with a vast assortment of bags and pillows and various other loose belongings piled high on her lap and threatening to topple over and on to the floor at every slight turn.
The family had been driving for just under an hour, having set their alarms to a painfully early hour of the morning in order to load up the car and get on the road before the roads clogged up with traffic. Darcy’s father hated traffic, almost had a fear of it, especially on the motorway where you can be stuck in it for hours on end, crawling your way slowly and gradually across a great chunk of the country until you finally reach a turning to escape. Still, to Darcy, being restless and fidgety in a convoy of equally bored and frustrated drivers still beat having to drag herself up at 5AM, falling quite literally out of bed and crashing to the floor, still rolled up in her duvet and nearly drifting back to sleep right there on the carpet. If she had to get up at this time on any other day, she would quite happily run a brush through her hair, throw on the closest sweater and pair of jeans and be out the house in just under half an hour, but today wasn’t any other Monday morning. She was on her way to university, she would be meeting a whole crowd for the first time, and if ever there was a time that she needed to be the height of fashion and elegance, today was the day.
Her short hair, an unnatural shade of dark cherry red, was static from a night of nervous tossing and turning, tapering awkwardly at the end of almost every strand, and she took straight to the task of ironing it out. It didn’t take long, because although fairly thick, her hair was cropped into a short bob that ended in rather sharp and neat edges, just about reaching her shoulders. Applying her makeup for the day was, naturally, a far more complex process, and she set about each powder and paste in her collection, almost as a very process of elimination, picking a pretty bright eyeshadow shade and then changing her mind for a more subtle one, and then reconsidering the first colour on reflection on how well it would match her floral blouse, and then deciding not to wear that blouse any more in favour of a different outfit of a completely different colour. A fraction of that time she spent actually working on her face, although the winged eyeliner was something that called for patience and a steady hand, and there was that very tense moment where a hand wobble nearly smudged her hard work. She finished her look with a deep red lipstick, a shade that matched her hair almost perfectly. She stood in the full length bathroom mirror, twisting and turning in the knee length crepe dress, before returning to sit on top of her suitcase, overflowing with all the clothes and shoes that used to line her now bare wardrobes and drawers, in an effort to force it closed.
The university halls, her home for the next year, were fairly new and modern, with huge sliding glass doors that led into the lobby, complete with fluffy rugs underneath plush armchairs and puffy beanbags, a front desk that stretched the length of the entire room, and another door that seemed to lead into a fancy bar of some kind, but she ended up being bustled into the lift before she could get a closer look. Lifts, as if happens, are not meant for three people and four suitcase, a fact that Darcy discovered upon being shoved right into the corner with her back up against the buttons (they ended up on the wrong floor several times before reaching the right floor. The very top. Typical).
After wheeling all of her things into the little room that was now her own, followed by a very tearful goodbye in the hallway, Darcy found herself sitting all alone in the kitchen. The room was really quite huge, with enough cupboards for everyone to claim one, three fridges and a number of stoves. The walls were painted in bright, zany colours, with a lot of somewhat questionable pop art pinned up wherever there was a space, with surfaces cluttered with bizarre objects such as little watering cans and plant pots, housing wooden spoons, knives or pens, almost in a desperate effort to be as quirky and unique as possible. There was a long dining table with twelve seats around it, which gave her a good indication of just how many people would be joining her, and she picked the one on the very end, twirling the fake flower in the vase in the middle of the table and gazed up at the huge clock hanging above one of the fridges. It was still very early in the morning, and it was likely most of new flatmates hadn’t even hit the road yet, let alone come close to arriving. There wasn’t much else to do but wait for them.
(My second character will be arriving late, so I'll bring him in later)
