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</div><b><span style="font-size: 30px"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'">Quinn Hurst</span></span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'">Location: </span></span></b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'">Bus | Luggage side of bus</span></span><br/><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'">Outfit: </span></span></b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'">Same as pic plus <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2Fb6h4Bmo.jpg&amp;hash=c8b8f1fda83b4811a0bbdc2740a938c4" href="https://i.imgur.com/b6h4Bmo.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">these jeans and Converse</a></span></span><br/><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'">Music: </span></span></b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'"><a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D57YEAEKKcOk&amp;hash=6c780affcab6a95043b23f73eb6aeb64" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57YEAEKKcOk" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Pentatonix - 90s Dance Medley</a></span></span><br/><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'">Tagging: </span></span></b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'">Ricky Santiago ( <a class="username" data-user-id="4238" data-username="sloane" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/4238/">sloane</a> ) | Open </span></span><br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--1"/><br/>Quinn Hurst was entirely unsure what to expect from Camp Gifford. She was the only person in her family who had ever been able to go, so she was not benefited by stories of old or given any sort of wise advice. All she knew was that, despite it feeling slightly like an overnight camp for children, this opportunity was really about networking.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, there wasn’t a course on networking at Columbia University. The only thing Quinn knew about it was that she needed to build connections in order to sell her services and turn her passion into a genuine career. Still, it didn’t help that the only experience she had in this realm was what she had seen in movies.<br/><br/>The flight had been long and grueling and she’d chosen an overnight one at that, so she was forced to sleep on the plane. Somehow she eventually did drift away into a slumber, but it was far from a comfortable night's sleep. From there, she boarded a gray bus and sat somewhere in the middle near a window, listening to her walkman with a mix CD in it, while she doodled.<br/><br/>She had brought enough drawing paper, charcoal pencils, and colored pencils to last an entire year, especially if she’d mostly be doing doodles rather than full size portraits, but still somehow had that nagging feeling that she’d forgotten something crucially important back home. The bus carried on its winding, bumpy path, eventually leading them to the camp proper.<br/><br/>Once it was time to do so, Quinn was only too happy to spring up and out of her seat, exit the bus and stretch her legs. She hated being cramped up in a seat for hours on end, and was missing her spacious artists desk back at the dorms very much. If only they had made a mobile one for travel.<br/><br/>She couldn't help feeling like she had forgotten to pack something vitally important back home, but thankfully she remembered to wear a watch to keep track of the time. Normally she didn't bother to wear a watch, since most places had clocks on the walls, though she doubted there would be clocks in the cabins. She sighed as the bus lurched to a stop, the brakes squeaking loudly.<br/><br/>Quinn collected her things and set them back into her canvas bag that she brought onto the bus with her. Some others popped up from their seats and got ready to depart the bus. Feeling pressured to move quickly for some reason, the redhead stood up too, rushed out of her seat, and hurried down the aisle.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, she didn’t see the pair of legs that were extended out, blocking the path and acting as a trip hazard, which she naturally fell right over. Her canvas bag went flying and she nearly face-planted against the aisle floor when she crashed. Thankfully, her arms naturally flung up as she fell down and caught her fall. “Ow,” she let out, her face wincing.<br/><br/>More than likely, she’d get a scrape or two from the fall. But the worst part was that most people were now staring at her as she worked to get herself up from the floor. A line formed at the front of the bus, where people waited for the doors to open so that they could exit the bus and round the luggage compartment to tug their suitcases free.<br/><br/>Another big sigh left her as she turned over her shoulder to look back at what in the world she tripped on, before she raked a hand through her long ginger hair to pull it back and out of her face. She grabbed her canvas bag and started reaching for the things that spilled out of it, to shove them all back inside again, trying to move as fast as possible to avoid being in others way.