He was late for the orientation, and he was one of the last students to approach the totally hot teacher at the podium.  A rather miserable looking figure about as tall as Markus comes walking up to the podium behind the rest of his future classmates. He is dressed in the average gray wizard robe, and the mouth cloth that comes up from his robe's neckline stretched tightly over his mouth. His arms remained folded as he walked up, like the typical tough guy he intends to be.<br/><br/>His name was Fredward Cooke, and he didn't bother paying too much attention to who his classmates were, nor what the teacher had to say once her class was assembled. After all, he isn't really in the mood to wonder why his teacher looked like a whore, nor why his classmates tend to be the odd sort out compared to the others.<br/><br/>He takes one look at his hand, remembering how he got into this school when he left a burn scar on someone's chest in one of his recent fights. Obviously he doesn't want to be here, but if he were to head home now, he would have to deal with his mother's complaining again. Giving that much thought, he stretches out his neckline mouth cloth so that he can breathe through this god damn orientation speech.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>