<hr/><hr/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">"Let's Get This Party Started "</span></strong></span> </div><hr/><hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://40.media.tumblr.com/b98973f987c4ef79a514d3bfbf27f1e4/tumblr_ngww5p1ilB1sbw1gto1_500.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><strong>NAME: </strong> Dominic DeCosa<br/><strong>AGE:</strong> 35<br/><strong>LOCATION &amp; TIME:</strong> Gymnasium Building, Heading for the Office Of Dmoinic DeCosta | 9/2/16 2:13PM<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong> Ciseleigh Capshaw <em><strong>CLOSED</strong></em></span></span><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><br/><br/>Dominic's grey gaze darted to the door at the abrupt knock. He expected her several minutes earlier. She was late. Unacceptable.<br/><br/>Crossing to the door with a leaden step, he creaked it open all of five inches, leaned casually against its teak frame, blinking at what he saw. She clearly didn't belong here. Hell, she looked like she hadn't set foot in an athletic facility her entire, pencil-skirted life. Well... aside from her stems. They were well defined. Toned, even. Pilates... maybe.<br/><br/><strong>"...I don't tolerate tardiness in my ranks, Miss...?"</strong><br/><br/>Leaving the sentence up in the air for her to finish, he continued to let his curious gaze rove about freely. After all, she'd sought him out, no? <br/><br/><br/></span></span>