(http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=21332202)--Melody.<br/><br/>Melody couldn't carry a tune in a basket. Which is a shame, really, because she loved to sing. Unfortunately she hated inflicting harm on others, and exposing others to her attempts at music was tantamount to torture. She was a double-threat. Lithe and graceful, she had been showered with praise for her acting more than once. Of course, her scholarship had been based largely around the writing minor. No practical skills being learned for her.<br/><br/>Melody had claimed the bottom bunk quietly. Hoped that she had more pure reasons than the sight of Freya ascending to her own. Hoped still more furvently that nobody knew--how utterly embarassing! She was quiet, unimposing, gentle and sweet. Everything someone uses to preface sentences ending in "before turning the gun on herself". What a horrible way to think. It was the author in her. The literary need filled her like a dark creature, twisting her thoughts and corrupting her perceptions. At least, she liked to blame her literary bug--realizing at every moment that she was lying to herself.<br/><br/>"I have some Dr. Pepper," Melody announced. Usually her southern drawl was nigh-undetectable. But it tended to become more noticible when she was nervous. And for reasons she didn't care to think too hard on, being around Freya made her ever-so-mildly nervous. "I always have Dr. Pepper if you... well that's not what you meant." She blushed.