<div class="floatleft">(http://i1087.photobucket.com/albums/j480/Erion2451/blonde-cute-girl-hair-long-hair-Favimcom-456484_zps26d92996.jpg)</div><strong>Name/True Identity:</strong>Rachel Prince (Rapunzel)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Common Room, Sunrise of 9/11<br/><strong>Doing:</strong>Writing an email, lounging around, waiting for a few of the other cheerleaders to go to breakfast with<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Merida, Open<br/><hr/><br/>Rachel was up before the sunrise, as usual.  She enjoyed the peace and quiet of the wee morning hours before the clamor that accompanied the waking of dozens of students.  She sat upon one of the more comfortable over-stuffed chairs stationed by the windows.  Her knee length blonde hair was braided, in her usual fashion, and hung over her shoulder.  Some of her teammates had suggested that she cut her hair, but her mother had never allowed that and, while she was no longer under her mother's overbearing thumb, she felt that she should respect some of her mother's wishes.  Besides, deep down, she liked her long hair.  Sure it got in the way at practice, but she'd figured out a hairstyle that worked, and no one had really pushed the subject.  Rachel wasn't unreasonable, she would cut it, and happily, if there was a good reason.  Mother always said that "she knew best" though, so maybe there was some reason Rachel shouldn't cut her hair.<br/><br/>She stroked her braid a few more times while biting her lower lip before she opened her email and typed in her mother's address.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;">Dear Mother,<br/>I hope you're doing well.  <br/><br/>Classes started again last week.  I think I have some wonderful teachers, I'm sure you'd approve of them.  I'm taking all the classes you wanted me to take, as well as, art.  It fit into my schedule perfectly and it shouldn't interfere with my other responsibilities.  Besides, I'm really good at it.  I think you can take credit for that.  You're the one who bought me my first paints after all.  <br/><br/>We have cheer leading tryouts planned for this afternoon, Isabella showed us some amazing moves yesterday and I feel like I was able to pick them up fast enough.  I don't think I should be nervous about the tryouts, but I am.  You never know, after all.  We got some really fantastic uniforms yesterday.  Isabella designed them.  Hers and Arella's have little magician hats on their shoulders, the rest of us don't, but they're still a lot better than our old uniforms.  Don't worry.  They look very professional and don't show off too much skin.  I think the skirts are even slightly longer than our old uniforms.  It'd be really nice if you were able to make a game this year.  I attached a schedule for you.  Thanks again for letting me come here.<br/><br/>Your loving daughter,<br/>Rachel</span><br/><br/>She read over the message again, checked to see if there was anything her mother might take the wrong way, and made sure her punctuation was accurate before sending it.<br/><br/>Rachel was still unsure why her mother had finally given-in and allowed her to attend college and still half expected her to show up, a disappointed look in her eye, and drag her home.   Sure, Rachel was old enough to make her own decisions, and take care of herself, but it had always been just her mother and her.  All the different places they'd lived, it had always just been the two of them.  Rachel logged out and closed her laptop before she rested her chin on her palm and stared out at the slowly rising sun, coloring the horizon with shades of pinks, purples, blues, oranges.  The blonde girl momentarily wished she'd had some paint, chalk, or even colored pencils at the moment to commemorate the morning.  Art wasn't scheduled for that day, and her supplies were back in her dorm room, so Rachel simply stared at the sunrise and fixed it to her memory.