<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Roman</span></div><div align="center">(http://i1086.photobucket.com/albums/j447/octopusdreams/Roman/sportycallum1-1.jpg)</div><br/>Roman stepped out of the cab, taking the last toke off his cigarette before flicking the butt of it onto the curb. He exhaled the smoke, grabbing his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he made his way into the school. He was dressed in a baggy crew neck sweater and straight legged jeans with black combat boots. He had a dark grey beanie on, eyes blue as the sky. He entered the school, coming into some ginger's bullshit introduction.<br/><br/>Rules were some thing that Roman wasn't fond of and that Brit accent was starting to get real annoying real fast. He gave a light scoff at the haughtiness in Warwick's voice. The fuck kind of name was Warwick any way? He had no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't find himself buddying up to the ginger prick, but Roman wasn't exactly known to make friends any way...<br/><br/>He didn't have any issues scanning the room, looking at the others, scouting out all the other men in the room and sizing them up. Testosterone ran thick in Roman and hung heavily on him as heavy as wilderness hung on an untamed animal. Roman's guns were always pulled and cocked with his finger on the trigger, ready to lay waste at any given moment- probably something that had a little to do with the dark bruise that laid on his cheekbone now and split knuckles from throwing his fists.<br/><br/>He wasn't nervous, confidence exuding from him, as if he owned the damn place. The same, however, couldn't be said for the others as they nervously looked about. The British prick had been right, though, there were faces and accents from all over the world in this one room and even better, some fine, exotic ass.