Alric Dorn disembarked last from a shuttle carrying several other cadets. He carried a bag with him, but it was only filled with needful things: personal toiletries, clothing, and PADDs with study material. There were no personal effects to be found within that bag - there was nothing to really denote that the possessions within belonged to a person with a unique history. Dorn carried no items whose value was more sentimental than utilitarian. One could attribute this to his species - he was a Cardassian - but the simple truth was that he was just one of many Cardassians who had no true personal items that spoke to their individuality.<br/><br/>How much that marked him apart was something that Dorn had noted through subtle observation of other Cadets. Humans seemed to have amassed many items of deeply personal value - items peculiar to their homeworld or that held significance to some deeply important event in their life. Even the Vulcans Dorn encountered had cherished personal items - though Dorn doubted that the Vulcans would characterize the purpose of these items in anything other than rigorously logical terms. An item that aided meditation had utility, even if there was no other purpose and it only helped one person. Ergo, through logic, it was not a sentimental curio.<br/><br/>Dorn had time to think about this. No one approached him to speak during the shuttle landing. It was the same as on much of his journey to Earth. There had been one incident where an Andorian had picked a fight with Dorn - despite Dorn being almost twice the Andorian's size. That had been a good fight. The two had ended up in sick bay it seemed as though there might have been basis for common ground between them, but the Andorian had a Bajoran friend and Dorn knew there was no possibility as soon as that Bajoran visited the Andorian.<br/><br/>The Cardassian followed at a distance the other cadets who went to check in with Academy personnel posted to take care of receiving the year's new students. He waited stoically and at arm's distance from the cadets in front of him. He overheard one of them murmur something unflattering about him - no other species was likely to be referred to by the epithet 'spoonhead' - and he maintained a detached look of self-assurance. The Cardassian did not make eye contact with the other cadets. The atmosphere of Earth was setting him ill at ease - too warm, too bright - and he felt a familiar twinge of discomfort at being around so many different species that he was sure every Cardassian felt at some level. They were Other and he was out of place. They were out of place. It was a state of affairs that left Dorn feeling a certain amount of anxiety that he kept concealed beneath a smug veneer that no one cared to try and scratch the surface of.<br/><br/>At last it was his turn, and Dorn walked with a straight-backed, long-legged swagger. "Alric Dorn." The Cardassian began, cutting himself just short of introducing himself as a member of the 13th Order. He was no longer, but it had so long been a part of his identity - the majority of his identity - that it took an effort not to append it. The Tellarite behind the desk glances up and snorts through porcine nostrils, consulting a PADD and grunting in mild surprise. The seated male gave Dorn his room assignation and waved the Cardassian away with barely disguised impatience.<br/><br/>He approached a turbolift. At seeing his advance, the other cadets within purposefully closed it and set it on its course, forcing the Cardassian to wait for another. As the door closed, Dorn gave everyone inside what they expected to see: a smug, condescending smirk at the antics of children that he was surely above. And why not?