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Realistic or Modern 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞-𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

laburnum gold

laburnum gold

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    ROSE-COLORED GLASSES.
    — ic

 
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4EΩ.
College hasn't been like what the movies say it is. You're on the final day of your first week, and all you really remember is your name, your pronouns, where you're from, your intended major, and an innocuous fun fact. This haze of introductions were never shown on screen, and you understand why now. It's not really interesting to show a gaggle of freshmen being dragged along by people they don't care about to do things that they'll forget about a month later.

You care a bit for your RA, but that's just because Duke was as clearly unamused about orientation as the rest of you. You're grateful for his blase attitude because that meant that your hall of twelve was able to speed through arts and crafts with little to note, his habit of cracking his joints aside.

With your collective vision boards tacked to the bulletin of your common room, there'd been ample time to laze around for the next part of orientation. He'd taken you down to the dorm lobby then, waiting on the plush couches for the tour guides to arrive.

When they came in with their red polo shirts and name tags, a pretty girl with a lion's mane of dark hair slid through the entranceway a minute later. You'd seen how Duke had been swept away from his amicable catching up with the guides when he locked eyes with her. He slotted into her side easily, and just like that, he disappeared up the stairs you came from.

You can only guess that she was the Mary Shelley who messaged him during the hall meeting. It's hard to know for sure. Despite how often you've seen her coming in and out of Duke's room the past few days, she's never stuck around for a substantive conversation. You can't guess what their relationship is - if they're dating or fucking or just close friends. The way she looks at him is something intense, both smug and curious while you've seen Duke look at her with equal amounts of awe and wariness. There are better things to do then think about what your RA is up to.

There's nothing to say about the tour. You'd already been on one early on in the summer, and it was recent enough that you can finish the facts the tour guides throw out before they do. You didn't, though, because there's nothing that interesting about Iris and Candor. You take the tour as an opportunity to take in the details of the campus you'd missed before.

When you walk along the thickly forested edge of the north side, you ( followingnorth followingnorth ) see a tree stump with an ax embedded in its center. There's no woodpile next to it, and no feasible reason you can think of for why ICU would want to chop down its trees. It's hard to take your mind off of, even after you've lost sight of it.

When you got to the West End, you blinked from the shine of the two metal crows perched on the pillars of the entrance. You amended the previous thought on ICU's tour guide facts. The only thing interesting about ICU is how obsessed with crows they are.

Even the table centerpieces during convocation dinner had been crow-themed, tasteful as it was. No bird statuette staring you and your hallmates down as you ate. It's interesting to see how intent the school is to force this bond between you and the people you live with. The tables around you were the rest of your year, all packed away into a grand event room.

A speech by Dean Iris concluded convocation. As she went on, you looked up, and on the dark landing above your heads, you were able to make out people folded over the rail, watching the proceedings and more importantly, you. They were some of the upperclassmen you'd been on the lookout for all day. A boy with dark curls in a white suit and wearing gloves kept his gaze trained on you ( shapeshifter shapeshifter ), tracking all your minute movements before turning away to share a laugh with his friend beside him.

The friend had features terribly familiar to you ( sidekicker sidekicker ), in the crease of his eyes as he smiled and the quirk of his mouth. You have a habit of seeing your brother wherever you look, but it's an easy mistake when you see so many of the same features all at once.

You can't be blamed for missing most of the speech. Dean Iris's final words are all you can remember, and that feels good enough to you. "Your heart decides your growth, so take care in what you care for." Yeah, you don't really know what she's trying to say either, but the way she said it and how it paired with the benevolent twinkle in her eyes, you believe it.

Your days since then have gone well. Your nights have not - plagued by intense dreams that you can't remember in the morning. All you have is a deep, visceral blackness, and tear tracks down your temples. No one knows what you're talking about when you ask if you're restless at night, despite what your rumpled sheets and frustration tells you.

Classes at least are exactly what ICU advertised them to be, despite just going over the syllabi for most of it. Your ( idiot idiot ) mentor is intrigued in the potential he sees in you. "A real diamond in the rough" is what he says to you. Your first assignment is set to Franz Schubert's Heidenröslein. You can see that the people for whom their majors match with their skills are more immediately thrown into intense work. You ( no-eyed-girl no-eyed-girl ) get the opportunity to research VR and other uses for augmented reality technology. It's interesting work, making people see things that others can't.

Now, though, you're on the fifth floor of the Tower, going to your only class of the day. Hopefully, you'll be let out early. The room is the first one on the floor and the door is closed, though the light is on. You wait in front of it, nervous if you should go in or not, before five minutes past the class start time has already gone by with no sight of professor Manco. When you grasp the handle, it turns easily in your hand.

The classroom is like all your others had been. An academic blue paint on the walls with dark wooden flooring and large windows looking out. The computer hooked up to the podium in the front of the room is running, you can hear it and the hum of the projector on the ceiling on standby. There is a video thumbnail thrown onto the blackboard, and despite the lack of proper background, you know that the man in tortoiseshell glasses and a white button-up folded up to his elbows is Percival Manco. On the board next to him is the phrase "WHO DO YOU CHOOSE IN A CRISIS" in yellow chalk. In the center of the room is a table with six chairs going around it while the rest of the desks have been pushed back. There's a bowl with a handful of folded pieces of paper in it. You can see a slip that says "DOCTOR" printed on it, but that's it. There is no one in there.

What do you do?

the beginning [remixed] —
tower 510 —​
 
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molly hart.

Music was an intoxicating drug, one that the girl seemingly lost herself in. Her first week at Iris and Candor University was split between socialising with her bubbly roommate, Lauren, and rigorous dance practice. An eclectic, older man was her mentor, a prolific dancer who once paraded in front of endless crowds around the world for over 20 years. Grasping a long ruler with his spindly fingers, he would prod at Molly's petite figure. He demanded perfection and was determined to whip her into shape.

"Chin up!" The raspy voice was barely registered over the sound of Franz Schubert's Heidenröslein blasting through the speakers. Molly lifted her delicate chin, toe pointed as she spun with effortless precision. The ruler tapped on the wooden floor, vibrating throughout the room to the steps. Thumping in Molly's ears, she continued to stay in line with each tap. Other dancers lined the mirrored walls, their judging eyes watched every move for the slightest mistake. Yet to their dismay, a mistake never came as the music came to an end.

"Simply beautiful, girl." Wolf Fassbender clapped, causing scattered applause from the other dancers. Molly blushed, blonde hair pulled into a neat, tight bun. Wolf's tired yet observant eyes scanned the room before continuing, "Some of you have been dancing since you were sucking on your mother's tit, yet have never moved like this girl here." Daggered stares surrounded Molly, a few whispers, as she stood in the centre of the room. The other dances were like a pack of wolves, ready to tear her to pieces at any moment. "I believe you have your first class, now go girl." Wolf waved off Molly, who picked up the duffel bag by the exit.

A raven-haired girl with piercing blue eyes opened the door for her, "Watch yourself, you country hick." She hissed, causing Molly's smile to fade as she rushed out into the hall without a word. Molly could feel her eyes burning a hole in her head as she closed the door behind her.

***
​
Entering the classroom, Molly recognised most of the faces from the orientation, especially her roommate and Hattie, a girl she completed the activity with. Still dressed in her ballet attire, Molly's eyes centred on the bowl in the middle of the room. The glass bowl was filled with slips of paper, with the wall displaying a man and the words, "WHO DO YOU CHOOSE IN A CRISIS?". Everyone stood in silence, confused by the display it seemed, especially considering there wasn't a lecturer or professor insight.

Without much thought, Molly stepped forwards in her ballet flats. Licking her lips, she effortlessly glided to the middle of the room, reaching her hand into the bowl. Taking a slip of paper, she sat herself down in one of the chairs, placing the duffel bag on the floor by her side. Unfolding the paper, the words "artist" were printed. Molly was unsure what this meant, yet placed it on the table, her pale, ghostly eyes looking towards the others.
classroom, 5th floor curious ballet attire everyone
 
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tagged: everyone // mentions: hattie, amber, orey // loc. maco's class

Taking sizzlin' hot showers, and staring down out at feet and hands that really didn't feel like her own anymore, was a thing that Marcy had been doing pretty much every day so far since starting University.

So was getting up very early to go swim until her biceps hurt, and she'd lost count of what lap number she was on.

Or til her mind got tired of analyzing every little sound, shadow, and pool ripple.

This entire week had honestly felt like her own personal zone-out fest; minus the times she full throttled herself into the bare amount of homework she'd been assigned so far, or dabbled in the company of her new neighbors.

A face from her past was one thing that had definitely caught her off guard. Remember Hattie Carson? Well, Marcy would say that she barely remembers her either - but even after five or so years apart, Marcy knew she had once known a younger version of that face.

To be sure it had been the same girl from those foggy middle school days, she had impulsively approached Hattie towards the end of orientation, and loosely tested the nick-name, "Cry-baby Carson?".

Hattie's response had been a dead give-away that the familiar face really had been Marcy's old middle school partner-in-crime.

Another familiar, (not because of the face, but because of the name) was the Kennedy chick; or the Amber Kennedy chick. Marcy and her kinda ran in the similar circle of 'Team USA sports kids' and they had 'supported' each other on social media.

They attended the same sports conventions, were featured in similar small-scale articles, yadda yadda; despite not ever meeting each other in person before Iris and Candor, they've sort of mutually decided it makes sense for them to be solid.

For now, anyways.

She'd also been offered some premium quality weed by Orey Reinhardt, a guy who's vibe she couldn't immediately distinguish between 'stuck up nerd' or 'young old money'.

And answering his offer with a dead-pan, 'Obviously, yes.' Marcy decided that this Orey would be someone she'll likely be hanging out with more in the future.

-

The set-up in the classroom seemed interesting, for sure; but whatever was about to take place seemed like it would be more entertaining than the things she'd done so far in her other classes. She'd given the bowl a pretty big couple of stirs, noticing that the 'Doctor' paper had still weirdly ended up in almost the same spot as before.

Damn, that's... too weird. Purposefully picking up a different piece of paper next to it, she gave a satisfied shrug.

'Engineer'. She was cool with that, probably. Knowing more of the context would probably make it cooler, though. "Are we supposed to wait for it to start, or something?"

But the longer a frozen Professor Manco stared down on them from the screen, the more Marcy started to feel less entertained and more weirdly restless.

She tried to make it casual when she decided to take it upon herself to start the video. "Actually, you know what - I think I'm gonna tap that space bar, if everyone's fine with that."


 
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SORAYA FAE RUSH
G L A S S
location: manco's class
mood: wired
mentions: fatima, molly
interactions: none​
F A L L S
"all we have left is right now"
outfit​


H E A R T
​
The initial orientation Ingram rounded up the group for had so felt so elementary, the arts and crafts only topped by that classic 'go around the room and introduce yourself' tradition. It made everyone everywhere nervous as hell. It wasn't that deep, but Soraya remembered raking her thoughts over the perfect answer tenfold to be certain she didn't sound uninteresting, haughty, pretentious, or stupid. No one knew how to put as much insight into yourself as you did. It was easy to flatter yourself by thinking people put such intense consideration into your persona.

Soraya was due to accompany the others on the fifth floor in Manco's class, toward whom she had concocted feelings of resentment and gratitude in some paradoxical oddity regarding the location of his classroom. Always keen to shed the extra calories, Rush was insistent on scaling the stairs of the tower to the fifth level. It was enough to have her panting feverishly by the time she reached the door, pausing on the opposite side of it to compose her screeching lungs and sallow looking body.

The day had somehow managed to be vivid and blurry, likely due to the vyvanse she swallowed just prior to orientation. It clashed with her otherwise weary, lethargic body by multiplying the colors of her life with explosive salience.

Upon entering the room, a few faces are easily recognized, but only in the sense of familiarity. She couldn't pin a name to any if she tried, unless it were Fatima, whom she'd paired with for the orientation vision board project. It only made sense to collaborate with the person you'd be snuggling up in cozy quarters with for months, clearly interested in knowing what you're dealing with. The woman swept her scattered sunset-tinted locks over one shoulder, glinting eyes observant and pensive as she took a seat. Others had drawn papers from the bowl, silently reviewing the careers carved in shaky black ink. The 'doctor' one sat idly.

Soraya watched the blonde ballet girl with intensity and alienation, not giving a flying fuck what she drew. It came her turn, or so she interpreted, stepping toward the bowl with a twitch as her willowy hand reached in. Impatience employed her, eating her still body as she unraveled the paper where she stood. 'Astronaut'. A grin mastered her expression as she paced back to her chair with visible energy. What a delightfully abstract job choice. It was exciting and sad to imagine a career made up of quiet exploration purely in solitude. How were those spacemen able to see so much unique beauty and yet hold it in?

The projector, as well as the ominous yellow writing of the board had her uneasy, however, wondering exactly who she could trust in a crisis. But what did this have to do with careers? Especially something like an astronaut? Their crisis' seemed pretty final.
coded by cadence cadence​
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4EΩ.
The video that starts playing is simple yet austere.

Professor Manco doesn't seem like a solemn man, not with the delicate wisps of his curls settled on his forehead or the smile playing on his mouth that invoke the feeling of a real-life gaussian blur around the man. However, the comfort his body holds while in the old money elegance of the room he's filming in lends him a quiet authority.

He's in the center of a middle shot, leaning against a dark cherry wood desk where his lower thighs brush the bottom of the frame. Manco has his arms crossed loosely over his chest. His white button-up is tight on his upper body despite the slouch of his shoulders. There's something weird there that you can't quite put your finger on. His shadow plays against the emerald green jacquard wallpaper behind him.

"Hello," he says with a smooth voice, "I'm Percival Manco, your advisor as well your professor." His voice takes on a rueful tone and he ducks his head a little in consternation. "My apologies for being absent from our first meeting. I've found myself at an unexpected set of circumstances."

Manco uncrosses his arms, placing his weight on his palms as he straightens up. You have the sense that if you were there with him, he'd be looming over you.

"I've given you an activity today. I'm sure you all know some semblance of each other by now, and you're tired of your first week of college as well." He chuckles, before continuing, "You all get a slip of paper. I hope you like it because you'll be advocating for it for the next hour, let's say.

"I'll have the question written out somewhere: who do you choose in a crisis? Only half of you get to be chosen. The crisis? Define it for yourselves. The details of your roles are up to you, as well. This is about your cleverness, your creativity if you will.

"If you weren't aware, this seminar is pass/fail only. So, some additional incentive for you to put your effort into this: the six get a passing grade, so argue well for yourself." Manco smiles then, eyes creasing from the force of it. The shadow behind him wavers for just a second. "Don't take too long to decide though, yes?"

classroom crisis —
tower 510 —​
 
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camilla rossi.
la vita è un sogno.
Though Camilla spent the whole summer waiting to start at Iris & Candor, she was honestly glad that the first week was finally over. It was overwhelming with meeting new people, going to meetings, speeches, etc. She really didn't have much time to process or adjust fully. There wasn't much time to think while your days were scheduled to the max with different activities and events to welcome you to ICU. This was something that was usually skipped over in movies and television, so Camilla really was not prepared for it. Sure, she figured there would be some of those things, especially for international and incoming students because you can't throw them in blind, but ICU really seemed to go all out with it.

Bailing on the vision board activity with Orey proved to be a nice break from all the icebreakers and "bonding" experiences students were forced to go through. She was especially thankful he suggested it because she would have never brought it up herself. To be truthful, that was probably a better bonding experience than the activity. Even if the vision board that had their names on it was the only empty one hung up with the rest of them. She didn't know what to make of the interesting (not to mention quite handsome) classmate of hers. She liked him of course, but she wasn't sure what her (hopefully) future friend's deal was. But, only time would tell that.

Initially, she was quite confident in herself. It was never something she really worried about, but as her eyes wandered during Dean Iris' speech, she found that dark haired guy watching her every movement. It was unnerving to say the least. Especially when he turned to laugh with what seemed to be his friends. What were they laughing about? Why was he watching me? Who is he? These were all questions that followed her since that moment. Why he was wearing a suit and gloves was not something Camilla understood either, but that wasn't as big of a question for her as she's seen some interesting choices in fashion amongst her peers.

Halfway through climbing the stairs of the Tower, Camilla realized it was a huge mistake. Though, she was committed and refused to back down. It's good for you. was the statement she repeated in her head as she climbed the stairs. Always health conscious following her illness, she generally made healthy choices, like taking the stairs instead of the elevator. In the future, this would not be a mistake she wanted to repeat. Coming to class sweaty and out of breath was not an option for Camilla. Grateful she left slightly earlier than she needed to account for the possibility for getting lost, Camilla was able to get herself together before actually entering her class.

Like many things at ICU, it was not what she was expecting. An absent professor, but a prepared classroom was what Camilla was met with. She was not the first to arrive, but thankfully, nobody had played the video. She watched as others approached the bowl, so she decided to follow suit. Sticking her hand in, she grabbed the first paper she touched without thinking. Unfolding it, she saw it read "Lawyer". Interesting.

She was pulled from her thoughts when someone in the room started the video. Define a crisis? There were so many situations that could be considered a crisis. Though she did begin thinking about general reasons why she would choose a lawyer in a crisis situation. The detail that stood out most to her in the video was the grading system. Only six people were going to pass this assignment? The pressure began to weigh on Camilla. She has never failed a class or assignment before and she didn't want to start now. She looked around at her classmates.

"Any ideas on what we want this 'crisis' to be?" she asked.
location: the tower | outfit: here | tag: timshel timshel


coded by weldherwings.
 
orey reinhardt.
he was a planet without an atmosphere.
On one of the rare occasions he spoke to his father, he shared with him how strange the first week of college was.

Even back in his father’s time, thirty or forty years ago or so, orientation was a whirlwind of names and deadlines and packed schedules from nine in the morning until nine at night. It was an information overload and an emotional drain all at the same time as you did your best to permanently associate names with faces, string together fun facts and ice breakers, and prolong the awkward small talk without much personality or background to draw from.

Orey’s experience was, unsurprisingly, just about the same; the only key difference was that his first week was facilitated by the internet: awkwardly spelling out Instagram and Snapchat handles to near strangers, desperately trying to assign a name to a contact that invited you to a party, feeling left out and alone because you missed a party and the stories from it seemed so fun they hurt. Part of him worried that the rest of the academic year would proceed at this same blindingly fast pace—and if that was the case, whether or not he could keep up with it.

But he did make it through the first week with a couple of memorable, promising experiences that settled his nerves. On the first day of orientation, he convinced what seemed like a very innocent (and gorgeous, might he add) girl, an Italian naive named Camilla, to ditch the pointless arts and crafts portion—it didn’t matter much anyway since their own RA left somewhat abruptly in the middle of it before they had the chance to even remotely get to know him. Perhaps that was odd, but nevertheless, he had a pleasant afternoon wandering the ICU streets with her, chatting aimlessly, sipping on $6 iced lattes, getting to know the campus.

And then, a couple of days later, he had another chance encounter with a certain Marcy Coles, another first-year who, yes, was related to that particular Coles—the Olympic medal-winning swimmer extraordinaire. If he was being completely honest with his motivations, perhaps the reason why he maintained the conversation with her was due to her family’s legacy. But the more they spoke, the more he was convinced to let his guard down: the girl was cool as hell. So he invited her over to his room to smoke, and decided he was going to keep her close.

School was the one thing that he consistently felt confident about, though: having graduated at the literal top of his class and turning down much more traditionally famous undergraduate institutions, Orey thrived in the classroom. He could write beautifully, pull all nighters with ease, and gracefully spit it all back out onto an exam without even looking like he broke a sweat. (Of course, the depression, which antagonized and worsened his impostor syndrome and self-loathing, made it all a very different story just underneath the surface.)

But he was excited to get back in the classroom after his last long, hot summer in New York City, and compete with upperclassmen the best he could: the young man purposefully stacked his schedule against the advice of his sophomore peer advisor so he could get into the academic thick of it right away. And there was absolutely no way he could get out of his first-year seminar, which had the most cryptic and least telling name of any class at ICU, and he assumed it was another lame attempt to get class bonding to happen.

Thankfully, he saw a couple of familiar faces in this seminar classroom. Orey waved to Camilla and Marcy wordlessly, flashing a small smile in their directions before fixing his attention on the rest of what was happening. He rested his gaze on a bowl filled with folded pieces of paper in it, and after a couple of moments spent wondering what its purpose was, curiosity got the best of him.

He plunged his right hand in the bowl, moving it around in the mess of paper slips until he touched one that felt right. He pulled it out from the rest, pausing to shake another lingering slip free, and unfolded it. Teacher. Orey shrugged, and then flinched from the sudden surprise of the video on the screen behind him coming to life.

Dread welled up inside him as this Professor Manco began to speak. This entire situation was horribly unsteady for his liking: what do you mean that only half the students in this seminar get a passing grade? Was that grade entirely dependent on today’s activity, or were there other opportunities to prove your worth during the rest of the semester?

… Was the professor bluffing? Something told him that was perhaps the case, but Orey had no way of definitively knowing—no one knew who this fellow even was. And how would he know if a resolution was even reached? The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, prompting him to look around the upper corners of the room, suddenly half anxious, half suspicious that he’d find the eye of a camera trained on them.

“I wonder if we’re being videotaped,” he mused out loud, voice no louder than a murmur. The young man rested a finger across his lips as he pondered, starting to walk in a small circle in the center of the classroom.

“Or recorded, at the absolute least. How else would Professor Manco even know we were doing this assignment productively?”

He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of nose. Regardless of the validity of this task, he decided in that moment he was not going to be one of the losers. Hopefully he could take Camilla and Marcy with him, but if not—tough. Even if he knew them better and trusted them more, Orey wasn’t going to sacrifice a grade that would tank his GPA for anyone.

Orey glanced up at Camilla, demeanor serious, his expression joyless and focused. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Why don’t we get a sense of what we’re working with first, though.”

He drew the now slightly crumpled paper slip out of his pocket, holding it between his two fingers like a cigarette. “Mine says ‘teacher’. What do yours say?”
threatened & competitive | the tower | camilla & marcy | shapeshifter shapeshifter & sidekicker sidekicker


coded by weldherwings.
 
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tagged: everyone // mentions: lotsa people // loc. maco's class

For the first assignment to be one where only half the class passes - Marcy had to admit, this was kind of a brutal introduction, Mr. Manco.

So only six students were going to pass... It had to be some sort of exercise on decision making, or something totally basic like that. Raising the stakes by saying only half of them were going to pass was just a way to give them a reason to argue more passionately... probably.

Either way, bluff or no bluff, Marcy knew she had to make sure she passed, and laid-back as she tried to seem, she couldn't let herself just fail.

Orey's comment about the room probably having a video recorder set off her own mini visual investigation. Based on first glances over the ceiling, she didn't immediately notice anything. The idea of Mr. Manco secretly watching them though, wasn't an idea Marcy was super fond of.

In fact, this whole scenario of their own teacher not even showing up at all was just... off-putting. Max wouldn't have shown up either.

Maybe finishing this activity asap was the best way to go.

"Well, I got Engineer; so whoever is going anywhere, they're going to need someone who can build things." She stuffed her hands in her pockets, and looked on to the next person, as if her case was already closed and her deal sealed.

Well. Now to find out who would be the next five.

She flicked her gaze to Orey, and gave a nod. "Teacher? Yeah, that's probably going to be a keeper too."

And in response to Camilla, for scenario's, there were a few basic ones that would work. "And maybe something simple, like who do you take with you to a deserted island?"

Marcy gave quick glance overs the rest of her class mates. This activity was basically going to measure their abilities on arguing for their place - and based on first impressions, there were definitely a few people Marcy knew were likely going to be at a disadvantage, especially if they drew shitty jobs.

Charlie was someone Marcy had exchanged introductions with, and from that introduction alone, she had a feeling this might be someone to maybe not argue for themselves.

Isaac, from what she could tell, was a wild card - she would be both equally un-surprised if he did, or did not, passionately argue for one of the four other open spots.

She had a similar uncertainty when it came to the flamboyantly red headed girl, Soraya.

The rest she was pretty sure would put up hard arguments; especially Fatima... And of course, Amber, her lovely room mate of three days, definitely wasn't going to give up so easily.

Okay, well. Maybe this was going to be a little more difficult & time-consuming than she thought.

"Actually, yeah. Maybe knowing everyone's role first is the best bet..."

Her gaze had unintentionally drawn to Molly, another someone who she wasn't sure what her arguing strategy would be. And if the ethereal seeming blonde didn't have one, Marcy was already, for whatever reason, thinking about how to help rope her into being one of the other passing students.

Shifting her gaze away, she maneuvered herself to peer over Hattie's shoulder instead, pretending to be interested in glimpsing at her piece of paper. "What about you, Hattie Carson? Did you get something useful?"


 
Charlie Zhang
survivalist
So admittedly this was Charlie’s first experience with higher education. And maybe she was missing something! Maybe the whole college shebang revolved around routinely spooky campus occurrences, or maybe higher education was just really into Halloween.

The axe in the log was—weird, but probably nothing. Statistically speaking, there was a non-zero chance that someone on campus was really into…...deforestation.

Somehow, this line of logic didn’t do very much to assuage her fears. Go figure.

Still, she forged forward through the week with much more confidence than she felt. It wasn’t like there was much else to do, even if the crows sent unwarranted prickles up her spine and she just couldn’t get it out of her head that she was being—watched. Somehow.

No doubt that the second part was the anxiety speaking, but it didn’t make it any better.

At least it felt like home, she thought ruefully. Not everyone got that privilege.

Which is all just to say that she climbed the tower to whatever spooky class she had that day with a sort of trepid courage which immediately vanished as soon as she closed the classroom door behind her.

Her slip read survivalist which wouldn’t be difficult to argue in a deserted island scenario, if she could maybe unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth and preferably stop hearing her heart in her ears.

She rubbed the paper anxiously as she listened to the others speak. There was a choice to be made, right? She could fail the class and let someone else pass, or she could pass and let someone else fail.

She couldn’t fail. But she didn’t want to make someone else fail either.

The paper had curled inward a bit from all her rubbing. Charlie spoke before she could regret it, ignoring the acidic fear swirling around in her chest. There was no time.

“Mine says survivalist,” she said. “If we’re on a deserted island—if we’ve been deserted on an island, no one would survive long enough to make use of the other professions without me.”

As soon as she said it, she immediately wanted to curl up and die. Too bold, too risky—the first shot in a battle she wouldn’t be able to win.

But it was done. She would leave the rest up to fate. .
the tower
anxious (what else?)
clothes
pretty much everyone
coded by natasha.
 
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Fatima Khatri
the attorney

All week had been blurry to Fatima, almost like a fever dream. Granted she prepared for all the typical events that happen at college, she still found herself surprised by how ICU dealt with certain procedures. In all honesty, Fatima was rather pleased that college had not mirrored the same stereotypical nonsense she had seen on television shows. Fortunately, ICU begged to differ. The incompetent, irksome behavior that most university students showed was absent here. For once she was surrounded by talent and people of intellectual appeal, the kinds of people that seemingly never existed in high school. Or perhaps she had yet to encounter the people who wrought havoc in the classrooms Fatima called her sanctuaries. Nevertheless, Fatima somewhat dreaded those people and she never once disputed the fact that some would be present in her classes.

She was more like a robot during the torturing activities and even though she genuinely tried to override her systemic way of thinking, Fatima would constantly revert to her usual analytical and calculating nature. When she was given the time to properly introduce herself to her roommate, Fatima was sure she had taken Demetria’s crucial advice and (unintentionally) misunderstood the directions. They were able to have a decent conversation but truthfully Fatima’s social capabilities had a limit. That limit came in the form of awkward and uncomfortable silences, painful attempts at relating to others, and the social repercussions that accompanied being an introvert.

Once they had finished their vision board, Fatima could not help but continually criticize their work. Though she was staring pensively at their posted vision board with stoic expression and slightly dropped eyelids, she was fighting a war within her mind. Perhaps she should have placed the picture to the right by 5 centimeters--or maybe drop it down 6.5 centimeters and move one of the letters to the left by 2.34 centimeters. No, mistakes have already been made, they could not be fixed. If anything, she needed to redirect her attention to something else or else she would drive herself mad with all these alleged “mistakes” she had made. Thankfully at the exact moment some more strangers happened to walk in and the diverse group of students are yet again herded into another purposeless orientation event.
_ _ _

Finally. As if the reason why they had gone to college in the first place was nonexistent, Fatima was finally going to a class for the day. Yet, knowing how today was going, Fatima was sure their professor would pull another class activity out of their ass for them to do.

She was right, of course. However, that did not mean she was particularly satisfied with those results.

Her fierce eyes immediately locked onto the projected screen reading “who do you choose in a crisis” and she unconsciously mouthed a silent “what.” For the first time since she moved in, her confusion was plastered on her face and more obvious than ever. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her top lip lifted slightly, revealing her pearly-white teeth underneath in a sneer. Oh whatever could be in store for them? She gave everyone a once-over, figuring out what the hell she had to do, before making her way towards the bowl of paper slips. Her hands reached in, moving around until her nimble fingers grabbed onto a lone piece of paper. Fatima opened it only to find the words “journalist” written on it. Once her gaze was settled on the career and the rest of the voices tuned out, the video began playing. She glanced up listening to every word, and as the video continued, her confusion slowly shifted into a look of disdain and conspicuous annoyance. Her eyes found the paper slip once more.

Was this some kind of joke?

A journalist must be the least important in any case of a crisis—of course they have their own uses in certain circumstances but for a crisis? How could writing hold any worth in the face of a disaster? There was an apparent lack of practical skills needed to contribute to a crisis's resolution. Why couldn’t she have gotten a lawyer—well, nevermind, the likelihood of Life giving her what she wanted was too much to ask for.

She overheard someone say their role and Fatima could practically see the look of envy morphing her facial features. Survivalist? Now that’s a role necessary in a crisis. Fatima threw another glare downwards to her feet, crumbled the paper and stuffed it into her cardigan’s pocket. She was not going to proclaim her pitiful role to the rest of the class, but she was undoubtedly going to do some sleuthing and figure out someone else’s role.
And by “sleuthing”, she meant lurk around her fellow classmates and not announce her presence as she eavesdrops on their conversations. And by “lurk around her fellow classmates” she meant bother Soraya, because there was no way she was putting her terrible social skills to the test again. Her difficulty with friendly conversations aside, at least Soraya seemed to understand her alien language.
When she scanned the room for the girl in question, Fatima saw Soraya look at her slip of paper gleefully. Curiosity piqued Fatima's interest and she strode towards her.

“Hello again,” that atrocious attempt at a smile tugged at Fatima’s lip corners. “Your facial expression tells me Fate did not screw up the career you were given. Is that correct?”

One of her hands slipped into her cardigan’s pocket and pulled out her own piece of paper. “I was given the fantabulous opportunity to play the journalist,” she added, sarcasm evident throughout the words she spoke.

“What did the bowl gift you?”


Orientation


Annoyed, but are you really surprised?


outfit


tags/interactions/mentions Parallax Parallax
coded by natasha.
 
molly hart.
she has that thing.
The video ended, leaving her ghostly-blue eyes to settle on the group surrounding the table. Molly remained seated in one of the six chairs, folding one ballet tight-clad leg over the other. Opinions started flooding in from around the room, beginning with the boy with the glasses. I think his name was Orey? Molly pondered. The choppy-haired swimmer, Marcy, followed, explaining the importance of her role. Molly couldn't deny the importance of an engineer. Another student — one Molly was unclear of — mentioned their role as a survivalist.

Molly's eyes dropped to the slip of paper on her thigh — artist. Artists were important in society but in a situation of hard-grit survival, it was obviously less desired in comparison to others. Regardless, Molly was not going to fail because of what she was dealt with. If Molly's effortless beauty wasn't going to help her win, then she would have to let her more calculating side do the convincing. A girl wearing an 'Arctic Monkeys' t-shirt approached the fiery redhead, seemingly talking about their roles. Before speaking, Molly let herself think back to the video. The professor, Manco, mentioned something that piqued Molly's interest. Once silence reigned over the classroom, Molly's pursed lips parted.

"If the details of the roles are up to us, what stops me from being an artist who in her free time is a world-renown surgeon who has a photographic memory?" Soft-spoken and poised, Molly's Southern accent shone through. She took a moment to let that sink in before she pointed a delicate finger at Marcy, "What stops me from deciding the engineer is also a convicted criminal who will murder the others in their sleep if we choose them?"

Once she had finished speaking, Molly tucked blonde tendrils of loose hair behind her ear. The usual deer-in-headlights expression was on her face, yet she was sure of herself right now and determined to dismantle this challenge apart to win.
thoughtful | maco's class | ballet attire | everyone


coded by weldherwings.
 

code by yousmelldead


This was getting old.

His own name felt uncomfortable in his mouth after repeating it so many times to so many people. He never really got the point of these things. These people weren’t gonna remember his name, so why remember theirs? There were four different “Brian”s in his C# class, and he was expected to keep them all straight? Forget it. He had enough on his plate already

Don’t misunderstand, he loved the coding work he was doing. Sure he snoozed while the classes covered the basics that he already knew, but he’d been learning a lot as well. He really hadn’t been expecting to work with the VR and AR, but he wasn’t complaining. He’d always wanted to try out those headsets for himself, and it was sort of video game-ish(though his professor might bristle at the word before going on a long tangent about the more “practical” uses for the tech). It reminded him of back when he was first learning how to code by making Half Life 2 mods.

But, man, he really underestimated how much homework would be involved. He never really struggled in high school, but already he could feel the weight of his assignments start to push down on his shoulders. Add that on top of his “extracurricular activities, it was more than a little stressful juggling everything, especially when it came to the classes he didn’t care about as much.

Speaking of, his last class of the week was one of those. He was on his way to class 4EΩ, which… he honestly had no clue what the hell that was supposed to be. He might have heard something about it being some kind of “freshman seminar”, which to him sounded like fancy college speak for “blow off class”. But still, the actual contents were a mystery to him.

But what he did know was that it had nothing to do with his major, therefore, he didn’t really care. All he had to do was pass. Which, if it’s just a “seminar”, it should be a pretty easy affair, right?

---

Not quite.

As Professor Marco’s video came to a stop. Isaac stared at the blackboard, mouth slightly agape.

He can’t be serious right?

He pulled the crumpled up slip of paper from his pocket and gave it another look.

“Politician.”

Could he have gotten a worse occupation for this? Nobody likes politicians, Isaac included. And if Isaac hated politicians, he hated debate even more. It was always so exhausting, and his emotions always ran too high, and he’d get too invested, gah. No fucking thanks. He’d rather save himself the grief, if possible.

Still, was this professor seriously gonna fail half the class over this? Like, for real? What kind of cut-throat sadist was this guy anyway? He’d like to imagine this was a bluff(Marco seemed like he could be the mind games-y type), but it wasn’t exactly a safe bet to make, given the circumstances. This is some unfair bullshit.

Ugh.

Whatever. Maybe he’d just take the L this time and hope the next assignment is more suited to his skill set. He’d see how it goes, observe, judge, but not get too involved.

Or, that was the plan, until he heard Molly, who seemed like she hadn’t even been listening, suddenly join the fray. Her speaking up at all was surprising on its own, but he really didn’t expect her to throw Marcy(who had been totally cool this whole time), under the bus stone cold like that. Brrr. He’d better watch out for that one.

But what really caught his attention were the actual contents of what Molly was suggesting. To be blunt, it sounded a wrong note to him. To Isaac, this “what if” stuff felt like a cheap loop-hole that served more as a distraction than an actual argument. While normally he’d respect the hustle, people’s grades were on the line, and some people really cared about those. If everyone just accepts this, this whole thing could turn into a shouting match over whose super-badass-mega-occupation is more OP than the others. His leg started to bounce anxiously. Isaac didn’t like this. It wasn’t like he particularly cared about who passed or anything. He just... didn’t feel good about letting something sneaky like this go without saying something.

So, against his better judgement, he opened his mouth.

“Are you kidding me? That’s a fallacy and you know it.” Isaac scoffed. “Going by that logic, why don’t we say that my politician here is secretly Jesus Christ and he can turn all the ocean water around us into wine?” He held up his slip so that everyone could see it before shoving it back in his pocket.

“That isn’t how any of this works. How about we talk about what is instead of wasting our time talking about what could be?”

ISAAC VARGAS

 
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camilla rossi.
la vita è un sogno.
Camilla's eyes followed the others in the room. The idea of being recorded or videotaped didn't quite sit right with her, giving her a similar feeling of insecurity the strange boy watching her at the speech did. However, she pushed the discomfort aside for the sake of the assignment. She listened to what the others had to say, holding her tongue for a moment or two in order to think of what the best response would be.

She glanced back down at her slip of paper. She was still holding it in her hands as she listened to the others speak. She wasn't quite sure how to argue the necessity of her position, but she did not like her odds if the crisis was being trapped on an island. What was a lawyer in a place without laws? Useless. She had never failed a class, or an assignment for that matter, in her life and she was not going to start now.

She listened as others explained their roles. Some were more obvious than others. "Survivalist" was a pretty damn lucky draw. Lawyer wasn't terrible, but there definitely were situations where it would not be essential. She couldn't help but scrunch her nose slightly with jealously as she thought about it.

"Realistically, how many people wind up stuck on a deserted island? It makes for entertaining television, but how often does it really happen? Actual crises happen regularly. There's natural disasters all the time. We can use actual evidence from those to back up our arguments, rather than hypotheticals like the artist-surgeon-genius," Camilla suggested casually, shrugging slightly.

Truthfully, she didn't mean to throw her roommate under the bus, but Isaac had a point. And to be fair, she threw that other girl under the bus first. Most importantly, she needed to have a topic where she had a fighting chance for her role, which she still had not revealed. Surely, nobody would agree if they knew that she would be an easy person to rule out of the five essential people.

She offered the class a bright smile as she waited on their response. She worried that she was being too transparent with her motivations by not revealing her role, but she wasn't the only one who hadn't spoken up about theirs, so there was at least a little hope.
location: the tower | outfit: here | tag: everyone




coded by weldherwings.
 
orey reinhardt.
he was a planet without an atmosphere.
Even though he claimed to truthfully not give a damn about what most people think of him, he felt the cool rush of relief wash over him when Marcy, in all her blunt astuteness, named him as a keeper. Orey dropped his eyes to the floor to hide the self-assured smile that began to spread on his lips, pretending to fiddle with this nails to hide it.

Before he could add much of anything, an Asian girl he didn’t recognize—was her name Charlie? He thought so—chimed in with a very valid point about her role being literally vital. The young man tilted his head to the side, raking through his mind for a quick rebuttal but gave the effort up a moment later: she’d made a good point, and there wasn’t anything to challenge the obvious.

And then another girl, a blonde who he hadn’t gotten to know personally just yet, spoke up. Immediately the type of argument she used made him roll his eyes, and he listened to her finish with crossed arms, resisting the urge to interrupt her and tear it apart. Sure, the artist was a bad luck of the draw, but—I’d be saying the same thing if I’d been stuck with that role, Orey realized. I actually kind of feel bad for her. He softened to some degree as the next person began speaking.

Oh—so Isaac practically stole the words from his mouth. He smirked at his roommate from across the room, privately both proud of the seemingly quiet character and relieved that he’d scored a like-minded companion in the random shuffle of them all. Perhaps they were going to get along just fine after all; he seemed just out of reach when Orey had been free during the daytime, and then absent and absorbed in his computer screen when he’d asked once or twice if he wanted to accompany him to the parties.

Thank God Camilla brought the discussion back to a workable place—the ultimately unimportant and useless deviations didn’t help them progress through the situation at all. So far, he hadn't identified a single irritating thing about her, and he was privately excited and intrigued by that. The young man flashed her a kind look before opening his mouth.

“In a vague sense, I suppose a 'crisis' can be just about anything profoundly, suddenly unfortunate,” Orey began, beginning to gesture with his hands as he went on. “Something like a plane or helicopter crash, or natural disasters—hurricanes, tornados, storms, the like.” He paused, glancing around at his classmates for some kind of feedback or affirmation.

Orey swallowed. “From the various connotations of the types of roles we have, my thought is that this intended crisis is one where we’re all we’ve got to build on. Perhaps—“ he raised a hand to his chin, glancing up at some vague point on the ceiling— “We’ve been stranded, or deserted somewhere without many resources or others to rely on. We’ve got to protect what little we have from whatever crash or wreck, and rebuild the future. For humanity, or something.”

He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “How does that sound? I mean, we’ve got to actually start making these choices at some point,” he suggested. “How long do we have to mull over hypotheticals without any kind of accepted foundation to begin from?”

Although some part of his self-worth relied on the knowledge that he appeared smart and put-together to his peers, the young man’s focus today was on making an impression on the professor somehow, someday reviewing this footage. Orey had already made a conscious effort to take charge of the discussion, display leadership, and create space for productive directions to occur. Was that how a passing student acted in the professor's eyes?

He hoped to God that was the case. It had to be—he wasn't going to go down in the unfortunate half of the class without a fight.
uncharacteristically bold | the tower | all classmates |


coded by weldherwings.
 
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Soraya Rush
escapism becomes them
There was an inescapable twinge of adrenaline that clutched Soraya from the sudden, and exciting, realization that they'd be debating for the next hour or so. She caught on with express enthusiam, boarding the cooperation boat instantaneously. The list of things that could really get Soraya's blood circulating had diminished over the years. But debating? Ever since she was little, it was a celebrated activity on her end.

Marcy kicked off the discussion with a reasonable point, shedding light on the fact that building in this hypothetical universe would need to be incorporated. Obviously, no one here wanted to be excluded from the list of worthy laborers. Mostly due to the key factor of their grade looming over this decision. Half of them would fail this. Rush had to admit; that was pretty grimy. They would all go out swinging. But it would be impossible for her to deny that she wouldn't do the same as a professor. To engage your students in such enriching psychological dispute with crucial consequence was too tempting. Her hat went off to him, even if she temporarily hated him.

Fatima, her robotic roommate and vision board buddy joined in on the conversation, directing attention toward Rush herself. Her inquiry was unconvincingly alien at best, but Soraya found it almost endearing. Brows risen and arched with thought, the fluorescent-haired femme nodded. "You bet. I was gifted the heroic job of an astronaut," The dark-lipped girl snickered, shoulders tugging upward, "And now I have the privilege of fighting for my cause. As a journalist, you can report on my extraterrestrial findings; if we make it out of this crisis, of course." She teased shifting her attention back toward the center of the group.

A deserted island was what they decided on, building the foundation of this theoretical narrative with its related circumstances. Her grin dimmed down as she pondered over how she'd win the popular vote with an astronaut occupation on an island. Molly, the blonde bunhead, decided to take a sharp left turn in tactic, resolving that they could be anything. Criminals, doctors.. So and so.

Soraya exhaled through the nose, interested in her approach. But the permeameters were too broad, and it could easily backfire on her. Isaac seemed to have the same idea, cutting in to explain how her viewpoint was invalid. He made the point that she nearly expressed. A nod of agreement could be seen from Rush. Orey seemed to share the sentiment.

Not certain that anyone aside from Fatima had heard Soraya's drawn occupation, she listened to Orey reel things back toward the drawing board before finally chiming in. "That's true. I think with the given context, this crisis entails something big. Maybe even worldwide. Something that could involve the future of humanity. Maybe this crisis has to do with the entire world undergoing something devestating. And we have to choose from these careers to decide what we'd pick to help rebuild humanity from the ground up. That just my take on it, though." She resolved, not trying to offer too much at once. Taking on the role of a jabberjaw at this point would be asking for a boot-out.
code by fudgecakez
 
Amber K.



MOOD
invested

LOCATION
the tower

MENTIONS
everyone

INTERACTIONS
everyone

OUTFIT


It's been almost a full week, and Amber had easily adjusted to life at ICU, despite the university's need to scatter crow statuettes all over campus, constantly reminding it's students of it's creepy fucking mascot. The crows didn't fail to make for an uncomfortable atmosphere, especially when walking back to her dorm late at night, but she tried to ignore it for the most part (not like she could really do anything about it anyway), not wanting the ~shitty vibes~ they exuded to get to her, fucking up her college experience. Besides, she was here to pursue a higher education, and if she was able to excel in the competitive environment of Manhattan's elite back at home, then she was capable of doing the same at any old money institution, crow-obsessed or not. Plus, she was sure that once she'd seen someone in a ridiculous crow mascot suit, she'd be able to just laugh and get over it. There had to be a logical, solid explanation to why the school felt the need to establish a death symbol as their mascot, littering it in every corner of the university, right? The crows had to be useful for something other than looming over it's students, wishing them bad luck. Maybe the school chose the crow to intimidate it's rival's at sports games? Or maybe it was a symbol of some sort of secret society? Not surprising considering how similar universities were quite known for them. Who knows, but it was the one thing that had struck out to her about this campus (well, other than it's state of the art athletic facilities).

The past week had been a blur. A combination of class, practice, and navigating the social scene had kept Amber busy enough. The seemingly silly and childish ice breaker activity at orientation ended up not being all that bad, and she actually had fun scribbling over her partner Isaac's vision board designs. Their poster ended up looking like a whole mess when hung up, which didn't matter much to her. Considering herself somewhat a perfectionist, she would've probably tried harder if she knew that it was going to be put on display, but she gained a potential friend out of it, which was definitely much better. Then, her housing situation also finally got sorted out after her original roommate failed to show up. Being used to not having to share anything with anyone, you'd think Amber would be disappointed to find out that she wouldn't be keeping her single, but she was a people person, and her new roommate was alright, so she didn't really mind the trouble. She'd also recognized Marcy right away, not just because of her last name, but because of their Team USA social media circle. They had similar upbringings, so hopefully they'd be able to learn to share a living space together. Although, because the workload hasn't quite picked up yet, Amber hadn't even really spent much time in her room this week anyway. Instead, she found herself taking this opportunity to arrive at the rink extra early, even before her coach was up, to take advantage of having the whole facility, freshly laid ice and all, to herself. She also figured that she'd get in extra reps at the gym, rather than to take the time to catch up on sleep, while she enjoyed having a bit more time on her hands that surely wasn't going to last.

And now, not usually late, Amber had managed to arrive at her mysterious freshman seminar class, or what whatever an upperclassman had informed her that 4EΩ was, right on time as the video projected onto the black board began to play. Professor Manco oddly wasn't present (unless you count the projection, and in that case, it felt like he was very much there with his students, in spirit at least), but the vague instructions he left were threatening enough for the whole class to take him and the assignment seriously without him needing to physically be in the room. The harsh threat of failing had worked successfully, she had thought, as she watched her classmates scramble together, eager to sneak a peek at everyone else's slip of paper. Of course no one wanted to fail. It was all or nothing. Amber wasn't really sure of what Manco meant, but their final grades in the class were possibly on the line, something that definitely mattered to ICU's generally academically-driven population of students. Failing wasn't in her vocabulary, and losing was something she didn't do, so after making her way over to the bowl, she wasted no time choosing a slip of paper. Rather than to waste her energy fishing around for the "perfect" slip that felt just right, she reached her hand into the bowl and grabbed a random piece on top before quickly heading over to join the rest of the class.

Curious to see what she was working with, Amber unfolded the slip to take a quick glance at her fate as she seamlessly slipped into the group. The word researcher sat in a dark, angry looking font on her slip, daring her to take up the challenge.

The discussion had already started, as people frantically began to name off whatever occupation they received and give their own reasons as to why their role would be necessary in a crisis. Teacher, Engineer, Survivalist— nothing that wasn't useful quite yet (especially survivalist, now that was a lucky draw, and there was no arguing with what Charlie had said). If the professor had wanted to start the year off by throwing his students into a war zone, it had worked. In this competitive environment, tension between the students seem to develop fast, and Amber didn't want to jump in, not until the madness sorted itself out. She needed a game plan. She was sure Fatima, a seasoned debater that shared a few classes with her would also be doing the same. The role of a "researcher" was vague, but definitely something she could advocate for. She didn't have the most extensive experience with debates, but she was aware of different strategies. You can't simply spew out all your points at once and not expect a rebuttal. This wasn't worth getting heated for just yet. If she was the first to speak, hogging the floor and and dominating the conversation, it would've put a target on her back, and making enemies during this debate was probably the last thing she should be doing.

Amber was shaken from her train of thought when her ears perked up after finally hearing something different. Molly, the blonde girl in the ballet attire spoke up, trying to make a point about how they weren't limited to whatever occupation they drew. Amber couldn't help but raise a perfectly shaped brow, questioning the logic in whatever the girl was trying to get at. Not only was it a low blow to throw Marcy under the bus while she was at it, what she said just didn't make sense. They all drew a different role for a reason, and the point of the assignment was clearly to make an argument for whatever role was printed on the slip of paper they had in their hands. Sure, the "artist" wasn't exactly a lucky draw, but this felt like cheating if anything— a cheap way to get out of actually coming up with a good point. However, it wasn't long before Isaac butted in, saying basically what everyone (or what she assumed everyone) else wanted to say, and he'd probably said it better than anyone else could. Oh, and the Jesus comment was an especially good addition, too. She tried to resist the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

Thanks to Camilla, though, she was able to save the debate from being a total disaster and stopped whatever train they were on from derailing, running off the side of a cliff and falling into an abyss of hypotheticals (which would've quite frankly been pretty damn entertaining). They could've talked all they wanted about the hypotheticals, but it was a known fact that they'd be going no where. There was no getting out of that dark pit, and seeing the "no exceptions" type of professor that Manco was, everyone would've probably just failed. Then, Orey made a very valid point about avoiding all the "what-ifs" and setting a foundation to build their argument off of. Although his words were a bit much to swallow, Amber did agree with practically everything he had to say. Soraya also proceeded to piggyback off of what Orey said, but took a different route, expressing her take on the situation. Both points were valid (although Amber did slightly prefer Soraya's thoughts on the scenario because it wasn't as overused as being stranded on a deserted island), but the main purpose of this discussion was to decide on what roles were necessary in a crises. She decided that it was about time for her to put her two cents in and contribute to the argument, making her voice heard. If Manco really was recording them, hopefully he'd take note of how she was about to steer her classmates back on track to individually argue why their particular roles were essential for survival.

"Well, while I do agree with both of your ideas on how this crisis should affect the future of humanity," she began breathily, directly addressing Soraya and Orey in a civil manner, sliding into the conversation with ease. She offered a small smile before continuing, "I share Soraya's point of view of how, given the wide array of occupations that we are provided to work with, this crisis could go beyond being deserted somewhere with limited resources. The diverse range of roles that we are provided could assist in a more realistic scenario, more in the scope of what Camilla was previously trying to say. I agree that a crisis affecting our whole world has a greater effect on the future survival of mankind than being stranded on an island. So, maybe our crisis could be something like a global pandemic that is threatening to wipe out a huge chunk of our population. In addition to threatening our existence, it comes with economic and social ramifications. That would surely require rebuilding the future of humanity."

"Regardless of whether we find ourselves stranded on an island or in the middle of a worldwide crisis that's threatening our entire population, I believe we'd need a researcher, knowledgable in the study of the natural world, to help guide our population back onto the path of survival."


coded by weldherwings.
 
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He was late but fashionably so.

It was nothing unusual considering who he was but still, late. Not that he cared either way. He had been busy locked away in his single room in creative fever after the disaster of what you called introductions. Sylvester swore that he only had the good in mind in recommending a good masseuse that he knew of to their RA Duke after he made a freak show of basically breaking his bones for every second. Unfortunately, that good will of his wasn't appreciated. It was even barely noticed before the RA hurried away. He cringed at the instructions left at them. It was indeed very preschool. They were teenagers, not preschool. He frowned browsing through the stationary that was left for them. A vision board? He wasn't planning to take it so seriously but he didn't belong in the arts for nothing. He haven't managed in interacting and learning more of the others but he did ensure that in the end of the day that they knew of him either they liked it or not.

For the sake of his well-being, he pretended as though he haven't acknowledged how eerie that university could be. The reason how he ended up here in the first place was because it was rare few that accepted him. Although his future was nothing less but shining, shimmering and splendid- his grades tended to be obnoxiously the opposite. If he had the choice he'd rather work full-time but his mother required him to at least get his diploma. The course he was in was fashion design as well. He should be able to manage to get by a few more years in the academe, couldn't he?

Unfortunately if his horrid grades doesn't get him first then it'd be his bad record- which would include his tardiness and skipping periods. His classes tend to be flexible but unfortunately his general classes were not. Once he started working, he completely forgets everything else. He hasn't noticed time passed by and he was now running late. Instead of hurrying like any sane and sensible student would have done, he simply acquiesced himself to his fate and started catching up such as eating a meal that he missed and afterwards grooming and dressing himself up for the day. Just because he was late didn't meant that he can afford to cut corners in his personal appearance. He was feeling rather colorful at the moment and dressed himself as such.

"Hello beautiful people! Wonderful day, isn't it?" If they haven't noticed yet but Sylvester had a penchant for opening the doors loudly which brought people's naturally drawn to him who is the source of the sudden noise. There was hardly any remorse in his face for disturbing them or the fact he was late. His eyes widen slightly and raising his eyebrows, "Where's the professor?" he couldn't help but asked. In a way it was a blessing for him who only arrived now. "What's going on, actually?" He tries to get up to speed and decipher what was going on. There wasn't any professor. Based on the noises he was hearing prior his entrance, it seemed they were arguing about something but what? He couldn't really understand since he only heard a part of the conversation and even then, he wasn't paying much attention. He decides to look things a bit more closely. It seems that most of them were holding something- strips of paper. Some didn't but- either they hid it away or clenching it within their hand. "Now where is- Oh! There you are!" he moves to the clear bowl. Since he was late, he didn't get the opportunity to choose for himself.

"Olympian?" he reads aloud, completely clueless. Did it refer to how perfect he was similar to an Olympian God? He did get compared several times to those greek statues so it was completely understandable then. His body was indeed sculpted to perfection that God probably couldn't create a better masterpiece than him if he tried. It was unfortunate to the rest of the human race but the higher being only spent so much effort in his creation. He has doubt they can see anyone as close to perfection as he was. Or perhaps did it refer to Athlete? This was rather awkward since there was an actual olympian athlete in their midst but it wasn't as though he was bad either. Sylvester was considerably athletic- it just didn't limit or dedicate completely to one sport. Unfortunately for all that effort for his external appearance, his inside- specifically his brain was rather empty. He excelled in using his body and was able to all sorts of things with his hands. It's just that mathematics and sciences completely alluded him. It didn't bother Sylvester though and could live without it. He can still earn money either way so what was the problem.

When he confirmed it was a debate, his interest was considerably lessened even if it were mentioned that this particular activity placed their grades on the line. It already stated that only a few of them was gonna pass. He already knew- or understood better than anyone that unless by some miracle, there was no way he's going to part of it especially it was an academic debate.

"I'll cheer for you guys!" He happily exclaimed before sitting in one of the empty sits completely uninterested and starts checking the current state of his nails. "Should I put nail polish next time? Mmm.. What color?"
sylvester frazier
®

"The party doesn't start without moi."
@ The Tower with Everyone


coded by weldherwings.
 
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X X X
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tagged: everyone // mentions: everyoneee // loc. maco's class

This activity was getting more difficult by the second. The only real solid was the actual job titles they drew, but already, there were a few people who Marcy noticed were evading the question.

Probably a smart move, especially if your job sucks...

The first actual well spouted pitch that was said, along with the job title, was by Charlie, who had gotten survivalist.

It was a short surprising put in, yeah - but she really didn't need much more of a pitch than that.

"That's a uh, pretty solid one." she mumbled, already folding over how survivalist was pretty much an un-arguable role.

Before Marcy could finish her line of thought, Molly's soft voice suddenly cut through the air. A hypothetical question was thrown out, questioning the perspectives on her own role. An artist with a photogenic memory and a world-reknown surgeon?

That was an interesting argument Marcy was about to jump behind; getting assigned the role of 'artist' was pretty useless, but maybe if she helped her play up the second addition of that, she'd be able to help

- but that was her line of thinking before Molly pointed a dainty little finger in her direction.

Marcy felt her skin uncomfortably prickle immediately.

'...also a convicted criminal who will murder the others in their sleep if we choose them?'

Well... what the hell was that supposed to mean? Was that some kind of jab at... she instantly cut herself off.

Maybe this chick didn't need her help at all. She had an argument ready to go, and a target already established - unfortunately, the target being Marcy herself.

It was, in a lame way, kind of flattering, feeling like she somehow captured Molly's attention... but in a way that she didn't really like. For a hypothetical accusation that she didn't really like.

She lowered her shocked expression back into somewhat of a neutral one, and kind of scoffed, throwing her gaze to the side and shifting uncomfortably.

Her little pause became a little too long to not be considered at least a little 'bothered'. But thank hell for Isaac, who threw in his own two cents, and saved her ass. Gave her a chance to re-establish her brain.

Maybe Isaac was more Jesus-like than he thought.

Marcy let out a laugh at his comment, crossing her arms. "Yeah, right? Hypotheticals could go on forever, and I don't think we have a lot of time. We should stick to what is." she agreed, cautiously looking back to the suddenly not-so-'helpless' seeming blonde. "Not a bad deflection though, Molly - but engineer doesn't usually come with 'murdering criminal' in the job description."

Molly's argument seemed unnaturally brutal, but at least she tried to creatively challenge the views on logic of the group. Was Marcy just making excuses for her? Maybe. But... whatever.

She thought she'd overheard Fatima mention 'journalist' to Soraya, but it was rather hushed; so Marcy pretended she hadn't. Journalist was a no-go anyways.

Her new strategy was now one where if someone didn't speak up on their role, then they probably didn't have a chance at the passing five anyways - so knowing everyone's roles wasn't her focus anymore. It was deciding with what she did have, now.

Sebastian had tapped out, which she couldn't help but appreciate him for doing. If only a few of the others had the same mentality when it came to their grades...

The talk about the scenario itself was getting old pretty fast, too. If your job sucked, then trying to change the situation or circumstances to fit your role made sense; but - she was really just ready to steer this assignment to a close.

"You know, the scenario really probably doesn't matter that much for this assignment. Either way, the main question is who do you chose in a crisis, right?"

Amber and Soraya gave in their two cents, and Marcy couldn't say either really contributed that much to the conversation, besides exposing their roles. Her room mate said a lot of words, but did she really say anything? Marcy had to stifle a smirk.

The useful piece of something Marcy heard was that she had drawn 'researcher'.

Either way, a list was already being formed in her head. Shuffling towards Orey, she kind of leaned in, trying to be somewhat inconspicuous. "Just based on what's been said, 'cause I think we should work with what we have, I think it's you, me, Charlie - because I mean, fucking survivalist - and for the last two?"

The options so far were, what? Astronaut, researcher, artist, politician... Maybe this really wasn't that hard of a decision, actually.

"I'm thinking Amber, not because of her great debate skills, but because of the 'researcher' draw... and maybe Isaac? With politician? Or Soraya, with the astronaut deal." she paused, at this point, her voice a few hushes quieter. "No one's heard everyone's role, but... I dunno. What do you think?"

Teaming up with Orey just made sense, for now. Two heads were always better than one, in Marcy's experience.


 
molly hart.
she has that thing.
Clearly Molly's hypothetical scenario wasn't a popular one; people around the room suffocated the idea before it could even cry out. Her ghostly eyes settled on Marcy, she had cracked when Molly brought her name into the equation but seemingly recovered quickly. Eyes glazing over, Molly found herself lost in thought.

Ever since arriving at ICU, she has experienced something she hadn't felt before ⁠— challenge. From the other dancers to the students fighting for their spot among the six; she was challenged to earn her keep. Encouraging words and praise was something Molly would hear all the time for barely lifting a finger. Rarely did people disagree with Molly, but now she found herself questioning that logic.

Maybe they just agreed with you to make you happy? They had a reason to be fair, after what happened. Flashes of her parents; mouths stretched to form silent screams, eyes wide and fearful, and the blood...so much blood.

Molly's stomach growled, pulling her from deep thought. Realising she had been staring at Marcy the entire time, her eyes to flutter as she stood up. The chair's metal legs screeched against the ground. Approaching the computer and without much thought, Molly pressed the play button. Professor Manco was an unassuming man, she listened to him speak. Several key points stood out: Manco wanted them to detail their roles and they were being marked on their creativity it seemed. However, something more troubling stood out to Molly; his shadow was larger than himself and towards the end, the shadow flickered, as though someone was behind the camera.

The still image of Professor Manco was left and his hazy eyes were left staring at Molly. She wondered what this 'unexpected set of circumstances' really meant. Yet, before she could turn away, the emerald wall in the video plunged Molly into a simultaneous sense of dread and calm. His green, emerald-like eyes rimmed with the black hood filled her vision. They were permanently etched into her brain. She would never forget his eyes.
perplexed | manco's class | ballet attire | everyone


coded by weldherwings.
 
camilla rossi.
la vita è un sogno.
Relieved others were on the same page, however, she was pulled from her thoughts as someone entered the class. For a brief moment, she wondered if it was her professor, finally showing up. Though, that thought was quickly pushed out of her head when she saw the ensemble said person was wearing. It was that person from orientation with the bunny ears and heels. Fashionabley late she supposed. He seemed to immediately give up on the assignment which left Camilla confused. Was he not going to try? Doesn't he care about his grades? Camilla pushed the thoughts aside because it was distracting her from the assignment, and she had to be focused if she wanted to do well.

Thankful that the crisis and discussion got more realistic she began to come up with arguments for her role. Rebuilding the future for humanity. She could work with that. Rules and consequences for breaking them were essential to society, so she had a fighting chance at least. Molly had replayed the video, providing Camilla the opportunity to think more critically about them. It wasn't just about the roles' functions in society, but what be considered important characteristics each role holds as well.

"We are not going to go anywhere if we don't discuss why we think our roles are important. If we are rebuilding society, how is your role essential? For example, rules and consequences are essential to any society. So, my role- a lawyer, who has studied and worked in an already established system, can be essential to creating a new system that suits the new society. They can use their experience and education to implement the new rules and consequences in the most effective way," she explained.

Though she felt her argument was pretty solid, she was still nervous about what the others had to say. She was sure there was at least a chance she'd be in the essential 5 people that would pass, but her role wasn't as strong as "Survivalist". She just wanted to use the limited time they had effectively to get her point across because she genuinely did not know what she would do if she failed the assignment.

Their professor wasn't exactly the clearest on what he wants to see from the students and that was what stressed Camilla out the most. How were they supposed to do well if he was not clear on what his expectations were? She just wanted to get through her college career without ruining her streak of never failing an assignment, but that goal is seeming more and more improbable by the second.
location: the tower | outfit: here | tag: everyone




coded by weldherwings.
 
Amber K.



MOOD
lol just read and see

LOCATION
the tower

MENTIONS
everyone

INTERACTIONS
everyone

OUTFIT


Sylvester was "fashionably" late, making his show-stopping entrance as usual. His arrival disrupted the conversation for a bit— not surprising, but Amber didn't mind too much because his energy always seemed to make a situation feel more light hearted. It also didn't take long for him to decide on his own strategy— to sit back and relax, immediately surrendering his spot amongst the passing half as he joined the circle. Olympian was an interesting draw, but he clearly didn't give a shit about his grades and would much rather put his effort somewhere else, like examining his own nails for instance. She didn't expect anyone at ICU to give up so easily, but thanks to him, one less person would have to to reluctantly announce their defeat. Lucky for them, too, it also would make it less difficult for the students to make their final decisions later on. Once settling down, he said something about cheering the group on before verbalizing his own personal debate about whether he should do his nails or not.

"Definitely. And maybe choose a color that would compliment your 'fit," she replied with a nod, turning to face him. Sylvester sadly didn't remain the center of attention for long before Marcy brought the attention back to discussion.

Amber held back a smile as Marcy spoke up impatiently, trying to blow off figuring out the details of the actual crisis as if it really weren't all that important. Although, since it was something that no one could decide on, like Orey had stated, there was no foundation for the debate, and it was obvious that no one really knew how to begin arguing for themselves. Other than whatever that was, Marcy didn't really contribute much else to the discussion or make a valid argument for herself (other than her previous statement that just explained what she role she was assigned, which only really works if you got lucky with your draw). Instead, she then proceeded to lean over and murmur something to Orey in a somewhat hushed tone. Wow. Teaming up. Nice one. Something the blonde wasn't shocked to see coming from her roommate. It was maybe even somewhat expected of her. It might've been a smart move, but furthering the conversation would really help the group decide on who was actually going to pass. It clearly takes more than two people to decide for the class, and that power shouldn't get to lie in the palms of just their hands.

Thankfully, without a word, Molly loudly left her seat to replay the video for the class. She didn't say much else, probably wondering how she could redeem herself from her fallacy-filled statements from earlier, but this was surprisingly helpful. Even though nothing's changed, the instructions that escaped from Professor Manco's mouth still as vague and threatening as it was 10 minutes ago, it was a much needed reminder of how the professor wanted his students to go about this first assignment.

"Well, Marcy, Professor Manco did say to define the crisis ourselves, and like Orey mentioned, we need a foundation for this debate, something we can base our arguments off of. We all can't just explain whatever roles we drew. That wouldn't make for much of an argument. We'd have to further discuss why'd they be useful in rebuilding the future of humanity," she explained calmly, avoiding any sort of hostility, though her eyes glinted with a sense of playfulness. Be the bigger person. That's probably what Manco wanted to see right?

If she was being honest, though, the exact details of the crisis weren't too important to her own argument. The role of the researcher was a pretty decent draw, and she could try advocating for it from different angles. A somewhat agreed-on scenario would have just made it easier to decide on whatever perspective she wanted to take on to argue for herself.

"Anyway, fine, take away the details if you must, but again, as I said earlier, for whatever crisis we find ourselves in, a researcher with an extensive education and experience conducting studies would be necessary in finding ways to deal with the crisis at hand," she added before turning to Camilla who had found a way to advocate for why a lawyer would be useful, probably thanks to Soraya and her own earlier attempt to establish a realistic setting to deal with.

"That's a good point, Camilla, and I also believe a lawyer, engineer, teacher, survivalist, or someone of any profession really, would find a researcher's work and knowledge essential in a crisis. A researcher on their own could conduct experiments to obtain information on whatever natural disaster or pandemic threatening our future. Information on the crisis from whatever study they oversee would definitely be the necessary first steps in rebuilding the future of humanity."



coded by weldherwings.
 
Last edited:
Fatima Khatri
the attorney

Astronaut?
Surely they must possess a better skillset than that of a journalist. Fatima’s nose scrunched up and she pursed her lips together to form a thin line, perhaps out of pity for herself and the luck she had when choosing a career. What crime had Fatima committed in her past life that pissed off Fate? Truly it must have been a shameful act for her to be disgraced with this useless role.

“Wonderful…” She dragged out the last syllables. Fatima did not catch the apparent teasing—or perhaps she did, but chose to ignore it for her own sanity. “Yes, maybe that will be my purpose. To make note of the numerous achievements you have to your name—oh.” Fatima tilted her head to the side with a pensive look now replacing her once-exasperated expression. If a journalist’s job is to recount on the information they find, then surely they must have learned something from those interviews? They might not be able to fully comprehend the skills of their interviewees but Fatima could confidently say they’d at least retain some of that information. Why--journalists base all of the information they find on observations and interviews. She does not know if there were limits to the knowledge she may have accumulated from these interviews, but nonetheless she has somewhat proven that journalists are not as insignificant as they may seem. However, it seemed that the others would take her career as a joke. Would she blame them? Well no, but then again, now that she had found some use for the journalist… she could not help but feel some pride towards the career.

Fatima redirected her focus onto the rest of the class, listening attentively to each one either defend their career or argue about the definition of a crisis. Perhaps it was time for her to speak up. “I am not going to comment on what a crisis is or is not because the connotations of such depends on the person. However, I will comment on how we are to go about solving this supposed crisis.” This was Fatima’s natural habitat: an atmosphere made for discussion. An environment where people like Fatima thrive on back-and-forth commentary.

A debate.

As if she were partaking in a debate competition, Fatima straightened her posture, maintained a deadpan expression, and ensured she made eye contact with all of her classmates.

“As for me, I am a journalist. Through interviews, public records, and the news media, journalists are able to contribute information that does not strictly adhere to one subject. Of course at first glance this career is more of a pushover, but it is vital to keep in mind that a journalist is also an alternative form of a researcher. But I digress…” One particular pattern she has seen with the careers are the disciplines. Now that Fatima has given it more thought, careers such as the survivalist will only fit in certain crises--ones that require humanity to return to its roots and to their predecessors’ ways. At least the majority of these careers require a certain intellect. They had to figure out a way to determine the careers that would better suit any crisis.

“When I think of researcher, I think of the natural sciences—something that deals with the world’s phenomena and the physicality of it. For engineer, I think of the applied sciences. If we are to succeed in this crisis, we must hit all academic disciplines known: Natural Sciences, Social Sciences, Humanities, Applied Sciences, and maybe the Formal Sciences—only because of today’s technological advancements. By hitting each discipline, we will have variety. A crisis has happened in all of these subjects at some point in time, so hypothetically we’ve already covered most of the crisis we can think of. We can not have three careers from the same academic discipline when we could cover more ground instead.” The excitement of a debate was keeping her light on her toes and she couldn’t help but sport a slight smirk as she spoke.

“I am not saying to choose a journalist, but for those who wish to succeed at this activity—I do hope you take me seriously with the points I’ve made. Please do keep in mind that I said academic disciplines. Anything other than that would fit more in a zombie apocalypse, nuclear disaster, or should not be involved in a national or international crisis at all. However, if we do end up using any of those as our crisis then do feel free to correct me and present a counter-argument. Then again that would be wasting time, and what we need is a solution. So…who do you all propose should be in this ‘crisis-circumvention ’ group?” Fatima spoke fluently with little to no interruptions. She stood patiently waiting for anyone who would like to answer her question.


Manco's Classroom


Analytical


outfit


tags/interactions/mentions Parallax Parallax & Everyone
coded by natasha.
 
Soraya Rush
escapism becomes them
While the discussion was already well underway, Soraya dissected sentences in her head that might preach her point of view regarding the humanity-damning crisis. She noted herself leaning toward observer rather than stepping up and involving herself enough; a fraction that she would rather flip in this circumstance. If her voice wasn't heard, then she would easily dissolve against the sidelines. The rather flashy male with a kaleidoscope of bright hues on his clothes decided to bless everyone with his arrival, catching up quickly enough just to resign himself.

Sora perked a curvy brow, not questioning his lack of drive. It didn't bother her an ounce. She didn't know the man, or his situation, and if anything, him dropping out of this benefitted everyone else.

Molly stepped up to the projector, playing the video a second time. It seemed to snatch at everyone's attention, the room temporarily hushed as they craned their necks to review its information. For some, it seemed to provide a new insight, especially for Camilla. She was taking on a role that Soraya could only aspire toward, seeing as how she was being thoroughly considered and heard. It wasn't without its reasons, either. She made a lot of sense.

Fatima took her opportunity to present her angle, and Rush couldn't resist smirking with subtle reverence toward her new roommate's mannerisms. She definitely showed her lawyer side, even if that wasn't her assigned role. And damn, was she able to fight for it.

The dark-haired lawyer-to-be also went ahead and inquired who they found suitable for the choices, but Soraya had yet to argue on her own behalf. Deciding not to allow herself to fade along the sidelines, she straightened her posture and edged toward the lip of her chair, clasping the assigned paper between her thumb and two fingers. "Before we talk about some choices we might have, I'd just like to add something. My assigned role is astronaut. I know that offhand it might be thought of as atypical to consider in a humanity related crisis. However, I'd just like to offer some brief facts on astronauts. In order to be an astronaut, you have to first pass several other qualifications. Things like having a bachelor's degree in engineering, biological science, mathmatics, computer sciences, and the like. This entails a pretty decent rack-up of applicable knowledge for the given circumstances." She began, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward to rest her elbows upon her thighs, "I also think that when it comes to a sort of 'demolished humanity' situation, an astronaut would be good to consider having around. What if the earth isn't habitable anymore? Or what if there's a need in the far future to explore other resources that can't be discovered on this planet? I think knowledge that isn't strictly earthbound could be vital. The possibility is always there. And holding on to the desire to broaden our possibilities, especially out of our planet, is a crucial trait in human curiosity. Something that would be upsetting to lose."
code by fudgecakez
 
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