<hr/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><em>Oh. It's You.</em></span></strong></span></div><hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://i188.photobucket.com/albums/z67/designscene/DS/MeganFoxforWMagazine04.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>Name: </strong> Fox Kingsley<br/><strong>Sorting:</strong> Student: Bronze <br/><strong>Age:</strong> 19<br/><strong>Orientation:</strong> Bisexual <br/><strong>Mood:</strong> Resentful<br/><strong>Time &amp; Date</strong> 09|02|16 4:10PM<br/><strong>Location:</strong> Dorm room 120<br/><strong>Coming From:</strong> Homosexuality 101 (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=246314.msg12193133#msg12193133)<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong> Antoine | Ebony's Phone | [Closed]</span><br/><hr/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;">There was a familiarity in the noise of a slamming door. In the Kingsley household, the bang was usually preceded by shouting, and threats of divorce. Which was ironic, since the family was so keen on upholding the British standard in manners. And according to Fox's mother, it was "'"incredibly <em>rude</em>."'" That moment the door and latch bolt connected with the frame, Fox began to feel an ache in her spine. She swore she could feel the vibrations of the action in the rest of her bones too. Despite that, Fox remained immersed in her mobile, pretending it didn't bother her. When in all honesty, it made her think of home, which made her resentment spike. She remained silent, but couldn't control her eyes. They shut in a long, frustrated blink. <br/><br/>From peripheral view, Fox could see what looked like a heavy breathing male. She didn't want to pry, but it looked like he had had an episode. Perhaps one similar to hers in the classroom? She could only assume, given the way he rushed in. When the thud of a hand came, Fox's eyes flickered to it's source. How she loathed strangers' hands. Who knew where they've been, or what they've touched? The very thought of it made Fox's mouth dry. She cleared her throat, and attempted to remedy it. The anxieties, the thoughts, everything. <em>'Deep breaths.'</em> she told herself. Those didn't come easily, when your clothes were clingy.<br/><br/>As the lad sat at his desk, Fox finally invested to scan him. Gaging from first impressions,  he seemed like a neat, polished prep boy. Short brown hair, well groomed facial hair and a nice suit on the first day. Fox approved. She hoped and prayed to the gods, (of <strong>whatever</strong>,) that he was as diligent and conscious of cleanliness as he was with his appearance and his need to study. Instead of a greeting him, she asked, <strong>"Are you dying? Do you need a Xanax?"</strong> </span></span>