<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/2h8yHVo.jpg)</div><strong>Name: </strong>Roxanne C. Laveau<br/><strong>Student ID: </strong>OS619-1B13<br/><strong>Age/Year: </strong>20 / Freshman<br/><strong>Area of Study:</strong>Alchemy<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Main Hall 8:00pm<br/><strong>Tag:</strong>Lakresha Price, OPEN<br/><hr/><br/>Roxanne stood stone still like a deer caught in the headlights as she stared up at historic sorority house. Heart pounding, blood pumping, feet firmly anchored to the side walk, she could do nothing but stare at the Gothic mansion as other girls filed into the house, waltzing past her without a thought, not seeming to have the same apprehensions about approaching the house as she did. There was something...off...something...wrong, about that house. Honestly a normal person could tell you much the same, even if they couldn't really understand why they would come to such a conclusion, and even for a more "enlightened" mind like Roxanne's it was still much more feeling than thought. A creeping sense of unease that did not lend itself well to explanation nor understanding.<br/><br/>Of course, while she was scarred, she wasn't stupid, nor crazy. She knew she couldn't just stand there all night staring at the house like a frightened puppy, and she knew even more that she couldn't walk away. After all, the school, the people from Miskatonic were the only reason she was even standing there right now, and not rotting away in a prison cell raving about bubbling monsters to people who did not care to even humor her stories let alone believe them. She had been brought here by them, given a second chance at life by them...but it wasn't gratitude that compelled her, it was fear. The shivering witch remembered quite clear, the night they had come to talk to her, to hear out her story...she also remembered what it felt like to walk out of the jail that very same night, though it wasn't the cool night air or the sense of freedom that touched her most, but the quickness...the speed in which they were able to pull the invisible strings and have her released. The speed in which a seemingly open and shut case of such extreme brutality and public attention was completely brushed to the wayside. It was the kind of swiftness that spoke of great power and influence, power that had helped her sure...but if they had managed to get her out of prison in the span of a single night, how long would it take for them to have her sent back? Or anything else they would think to do to her should she not play along? It was that fear, that ever potent "what if?" that finally drove her feet forward, the girl nearly flinching back as she stepped across the threshold into the house.<br/><br/>The inside of the house was not that much better than the outside honestly, made only marginally better by the abundance of seemingly friendly, and undeniably pretty, faces. The inside of the house was actually not that foreign to her, it's massive size and lavish, yet dark furnishings reminding her greatly of the plantation manor she had called her home for so many years. The lingering feeling of magic and darkness, of ambitious curiosity and cruel history, of sisterhood and perverse things beyond sister hood, they all struck similar chords in her as when she lived inside that house. Hell even the amassing crowd of feminine faces, all blurring together in her unfocused mind, reminded her of her fellow witches, of the parties and gatherings her coven held, of the more innocent times when the most sinister thing one of your sisters might do to you is slip a hand beneath your skirt when you were unawares, though even then they only did it to bring you happiness in the end...all of these things reminded her of her home, and while for many this would have been a comforting thing, to her it was anything but. It may have brought some bit of nostalgia, but that wistful remembrance was always quickly followed by horror, by traumatic memories she tried very hard not to think about.<br/><br/>Ah yes, that's right, Roxanne remembered she had prepared a potion earlier that morning that would help with forgetting bad memories. It came in a silver flask, bore a light, caramel color, and tasted oddly similar to cheap southern brandy. Reaching into her pocket the girl worked her way towards one of the corners of the room, hoping to draw attention away from herself, before pulling out the flask of booze and downing a few gulps, the fluid stinging at her throat as she downed it with impunity. Roxanne was never a heavy drinker before, a glass of wine or two at a big holiday dinner perhaps, if the elders allowed it of course, but it seemed witnessing all your friends and family get devoured by a horrible elder beast had a way of developing one's taste for spirits. She remembered when she had torched the coven's mansion with the beast inside, as she fled the building she had nabbed the head witches bottle of vintage cognac, almost unconsciously, and had downed the entire decanter between bitter sobs as she watched her life burn away from the front lawn, vainly attempting to calm her nerves though it had just made her black out.<br/><br/>That was when her secret drinking habit had started, and it was at Gamma Rho Lambda's pledge mixer that the habit continued strong. She glanced anxiously around the room as she sipped, though not just looking out to see if someone spotted her, but checking the faces, the atmosphere. Still too familiar *gulp* another shot down the drain. She repeated this process a few more times until the faces around her were just blurry enough that she no longer saw her old friends in them. Heaving a sigh she tucked the flask away and stepped back out into the party, apparently giving far too much faith too her inebriated legs as she almost immediately wobbled and began tripping over herself, ending up bumbling into a dark haired woman (Lakresha) and being forced to hang onto the poor girl for dear life, less she tumble all the way to the floor, "S-sorry..." she murmured faintly, clutching and groping at the girl for some kind of support, not paying due attention to where her hands went, probably giving the impression that she was intentionally accosting the other woman.<br/><br/>