<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/3c/Ririfinal1_by_vactuart-d9pkdvm.png)</div><strong>Name: </strong>Lakresha Price<br/><strong>Student ID: </strong>OS843-0710<br/><strong>Age/Year: </strong>19/Freshman<br/><strong>Area of Study:</strong>Occult Historian<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Showers<br/><strong>Tag:</strong>Riley<br/><hr/><br/>Lakresha believed she knew what a shower entailed. It was an addendum to the bath, an afterthought siphoning pressure from the faucet in a feeble pole vault flop. This shower was different. It had survived a world war. She stood her ground against a wind that could hold her aloft, and the sensation buzzed alone in her head. She was purely physical, inhabiting a brown sugar body confident in the feel of a catsuit and confident on her toes in the rush of water.<br/><br/>Her eyes popped open. "Don't worry, you're good."<br/><br/>Black nails guided the glue from her hair along winding, weaving grain. It was these dark lines across her brow, or the skepticism built into her face, or the intensity of her lashes that lent a prowl to laying eyes on Riley. What she found was a turned back, that pure, rich coffee bean dark. It came down to such small differences between she and Riley when the similarities were so profound they'd drawn together as molecules like to like through the murky morass of pledge week. "Yuuuck, that stuff. Did I get it all out?" Head down, she offered herself to Riley for inspection.<br/><br/>So this was her new magic buddy. Riley came across as uncomfortable out of her clothes; not ashamed of nudity, necessarily, but wanting the reassuring weight of clothes. The kind of girl who Netflixed in a hoodie, who owned one threadbare set of pajamas. Lakresha smiled.<br/><br/>When it was her turn, she ran the glamor girl crisp edges of her black nails through Riley's hair. The left hand mirrored the right in a tight rhythm. "Hey, do you hear that?" Her core fluttered, but her voice was evening radio velvet. "Sounds like a party downstairs."<br/>