<span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'"><div class="bbImageWrapper bbImageAligned--left js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/1633402326918-png.98091/" title="1633402326918.png">
<img alt="1633402326918.png" class="bbImage lazyload" data-src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/1633402326918-png.98091/" data-url="" data-zoom-target="1" height="600" src="data:image/svg+xml;charset=utf-8,%3Csvg xmlns%3D'http%3A%2F%2Fwww.w3.org%2F2000%2Fsvg' width='604' height='600' viewBox%3D'0 0 604 600'%2F%3E" style="width: 123px" title="1633402326918.png" width="604"/>
<noscript><img alt="1633402326918.png" class="bbImage" data-url="" data-zoom-target="1" height="600" src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/1633402326918-png.98091/" style="width: 123px" title="1633402326918.png" width="604"/></noscript>
</div><span style="font-size: 15px">Flying was always annoying, but at least she got free drinks. The headaches and dry-eye were easily combatted by the excitement that filled the young woman. It was finally that time of year... Time to go to Camp Gifford, that is! Anna could barely sit still during the insanely long flight from England back to the States. As fun as her jaunt had been, getting to spend some time relaxing at a nice camp in the middle of the Washington wilderness was such a delightful notion. Washington was somewhere near California, wasn't it? She hoped that it would be nice and warm. She'd packed so many different warm-weather outfits for it not to be. Her luggage was almost a fifty-fifty split between her various pretty notebooks and even more pretty clothes, which was saying something, given that she had three massive bags stowed away somewhere within the metal hull of her oversea vessel, excluding her carry-ons. She was prepared for inspiration to hit at any moment! Who knew, maybe she'd find the seeds of a beautiful romance novel scattered somewhere in the fertile earth of the woods, that she could nurture into a new best-selling novel. </span></span><br/><span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'"><br/>
Anna was drowsy and jetlagged when she finally touched down in the U.S., but she found her way onto one of the awaiting busses that had come to whisk her away to her new, temporary residence. Aides loaded her bags into the cargo hold of the buss she'd been designated as the woman herself walked aboard, her heels clicking against the metal runway down the center of the seat aisles. This was such a special opportunity; she knew she should feel honored to have a place at Camp Gifford, but honestly, she knew she was going to get in the moment she applied. How couldn't she? She fit their graduate model precisely. Phenomenal in her classes, wealthy, on her way to becoming a complete and utter success in her field, and not to mention good-looking. A face they'd surely want to put on their next batch of brochures. And, given the glimpse into her campmates the shared accommodations of the bus provided, it appeared as though she wasn't the only attractive figure in the midst. Cute guys were in abundance, which only made the promise of co-ed housing even sweeter. Sure, she should be focusing on her collegiate requirements, but why not have fun while the thumb of her overbearing parents was lifted? Shielded from their harsh gaze by the dense evergreens, she could already taste the mischief Camp Gifford would allow her to get up to.<br/>
<br/>
All the more fodder for her book. Every experience was a new golden nugget- a beautiful, gleaming gem, which she could precisely implant into her elegant craft. Like a king's crown, she wanted it to be <i>perfect</i>. It had to be. How could she settle for anything less? It wasn't the Moore way to be anything but the best. Her father had drilled as much into her skull since she was young. Her big brother had grown into a terribly successful CEO, and Anna wasn't about to let her own name go by the wayside of her parents' approval.<br/>
<br/>
She settled into a seat somewhere near the front of the bus. She smoothed the short skirt of her pale pink dress out along her thighs as a matter of propriety as she made herself at home, her hard-shell, rolling carry-on bag tucked neatly beside her feet.<br/>
<br/>
During the ride, Anna found herself with her diary in her lap and a pen in hand. Sure, the bumps in the road smudged her otherwise neat handwriting and caused letters to come out ragged and off-center, but she didn't want to wait to write down her thoughts so far! She noted the time, and beneath the section where she'd scrawled her boredom of the plane ride, she began describing her thoughts- as well as her surroundings. Her excitement would have had her leg bouncing if she hadn't trained that response away forever ago. Instead, the jitters manifested in the twirling of her pen when she was between sentences and plotting what to write next; she spun the glittery orange utensil like a baton between her slender, dexterous fingers, then flicked it back into place against her thumb when she wanted to continue. She described the view from the windows and the nearest campers that sat scattered around her within the belly of the vehicle, making particular note of which guys she'd immediately developed an eye for and the girl that had hobbled to the front of the bus to sit next to one of them. It was all things that could seem pointless and inconsequential to anyone but her, and yet, Anna continued to write anyway.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe it was out of spite that she took such a fancy to literature. Her mom had wanted her to be an actress; her father wanted her to find a rich husband and settle down already. Neither were particularly supportive of her desire to become an author, but her incessant prodding had eventually coerced them into paying her tuition to the illustrious college she now attended across the sea. Reading had once been a chore, given how easily distracted she was and her need to reread sentences a thousand times over for it to properly register... but as she grew, she'd pushed herself to overcome such a weakness. Overhearing all those former conversations between her teachers and parents, the hushed, sympathetic voice they'd take on as they stated "She's certainly not the brightest" fed her desire to <i>be better</i> more than anything else she could quite point to. And once she got the hang of reading, everything else sort of clicked into place. Writing followed, and she hadn't stopped since.<br/>
<br/>
Or at least, that's the story she tells. Anna glanced up from her diary to peer through the window once again. The view had drastically changed, now: it had become a dense wood that sat to either side of a thin road, on which they now travelled. They must be getting close! She could feel the ball of buzzing energy in her chest bubble up to the surface once more, and this time, she let her leg bounce in gratuitous repetition as the bus passed beneath the arch. She closed her diary; she couldn't keep focus when there were people standing outside the bus's route in Camp Gifford apparel! That must have been the welcoming committee. She scooted herself into the aisle seat, leaning across the gap to talk to the black-haired girl. "Hey, we're here! Look!" Anna didn't know whether or not the closed eyes of the young woman would permit the sight of what she assumed to be the counselors, but she pointed past her- and the blond beside her- and out the window anyway. Sitting behind the driver wasn't the most advantageous position for her want of a view, so pestering the neighboring campers was a fantastic option. </span></span>