<div class="floatleft">(http://cdn.simplyshredded.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/61.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Isabella "Bella" Santos<br/><strong>Alias:</strong>Green Ranger<br/><strong>Time/Date:</strong>October 1st, early morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Off campus apartment to fountain<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Kara, Bence, Vivi<strong>Mention:</strong>N/A<br/><hr/><br/>The sun light began to creep across the polished floor of the apartment.  Tendrils slipped between slits of heavy curtains and around once darkened corners.  Always an air of judgement to the morning light while those streaks illuminate the activities of the night.  Found now in the once neat apartment were open drawers and tossed clothing.  Underwear strewn about the couch and books laying in disheveled piles in front of their shelves.  Magazines ranging from People to The Economist were in disarray throughout along with various items that made the apartment seem the scene of a brutal assault.  Many might ponder, as Isabella already had, that the night had seen a wild foray into the primal.  Yet there was no man or woman except for the sole occupant to be found.  Isabella had ceased contemplating what had happened last night.<br/><br/>Club Nebula had been involved.  A barrage of lights, dancers and liquor to drown out the sorrows of discussing her future with her mother and father filled her mind.  Talk of her returning to Brazil, marrying a man that could easily be portrayed on Shark Week and churning out children had rained down on her.  If she could have chewed glass at the time to drown out the voices on the phone she would have done so.  Once she had hung up on them and then found all her accounts frozen.  Isabella had a nest egg tucked away from them in her own accounts, but it was nothing compared to her father’s fortunes.  So she was the dutiful daughter and then the drunken wretch.  Now she paid the price and so had her apartment.  Still she could not explain the early morning crisis she now suffered.<br/><br/>Seated now at the head of this mess, Isabella stared at two laptops running numbers from both Europe and Asian markets.  To her other side was nestled her large screen cellphone hosting a conference call she normally struggled to be part of during these morning hours.  Yet here she was reviewing national investments with a conference of brokers.  Before the opening bell of Wall Street she would have the strategy of the day firmly in place, while also getting her homework finished as she wrote on a tablet.  Thoughts, connections and leaps of intellect were made at speeds that normally required a full night’s rest and several shots of espresso.  Instead she only sipped water because her pounding head could not tolerate much else.  Fingers attempted to push into her brain to give a massage but meet only with her forehead.<br/><br/>A steel eyed expression flashed toward the sunlight as if the power of Isabella Santos and her family could keep at bay the dawn.  There was no stopping the light or the judgement.  Instead she simply closed both her laptops and ended her call.  She would get an A in this class no matter the stakes.  Pity the money wasn’t real though, she was going to make a lot of monopoly cash very soon she suspected.  The long nightshirt of cotton shifted around her body while she unfolded from the chair.  A hefty sip of her water was taken before she moved toward the bathroom to wash her face so that she could face the light with fresh eyes.  Isabella had a pounding headache, a sore body that felt as if she had been working out the entire night and vague memories that were a cross between a night partying and surgery.  Yet she felt fully awake and might she even say alive right now.<br/><br/>The night shirt was shed as she passed the doorway to her bathroom.  Passing the mirror there was a momentary pause to appreciation her body and inspect for flaws.  Typically she found a few to comment upon and set goals for herself.  Today she found none to speak about.  Instead the blemishes she suspect to her skin were now gone.  Areas where fat would linger were replaced with lean muscle and tightened flesh.  Maybe the coconut oil treatments were worth a second try after all.   Drawing up her hair she passed into the multi-headed shower with the hopes that hot water would ease the pain in her mind.  A draw was taken of the steam and she felt as if there might be hope inside the confines of tile.  Maybe she could stay home today.  Secret fantasies of drawing tight the curtains and burying beneath her comforter played out with a fatality.  Isabella would never do such a thing.<br/><br/>Besides the headache started anew as she reached for the bottle of body wash.  Well at least she reasoned she had reached for the bottle, but she didn’t quite remember moving from her spot.  Or putting the bottle back but she assumed such anyway.  A shake of her head was given before she stepped out of the shower and began to towel off her body.  Class would start soon enough and she hated being late above almost all else.  Bare feet padded toward her room so that she could part the doors into the array of clothing at her disposal.  Typically she dressed for class as most would dress for work, but today felt much like a casual Friday so far as she was concerned.  Besides she had been up early doing her work for the day.  How or why she had done so still plagued her thoughts.<br/><br/>Clothing choices seemed to leap into her fingertips while she thumbed through.  Pair of soft, dark gray yoga pants were laid on the bed alongside an oversized sweater of mint green.  The material of both promised to be pleasing to touch and when laid against her skin offered a tantalizing promise.  First though she pulled on her boy shorts and bra.  The sweater was an asymmetrical cut so fell off one shoulder to expose the black strap of the bra beneath.  At her hips the yoga pants tightly clung, doing their best to cover the wide expanse but ultimately failing.  Though she showed little actual flesh the curve and shape of her body were made highlighted by the shifting material of her top and the tightness of her pants.  A set of fur lined boots promised to keep her warm before she set out for class.<br/><br/>She left her apartment to the sound of her maid ranting in Portugese about the mess.  Isabella didn’t remember slamming the door shut, but the sound was satisfying even if her headache did reappear afterward.  An over the shoulder bag hung at her side now as she entered and then later exited her small car.  While she might have sprung for an expensive model, she could not argue with the economic choice and ease of this vehicle in a city such as this one.  The headache persisted now as she walked through the light of the morning day.  She set sunglasses to her eyes in the hopes she might have some relief while walking past the fountain at the campus center.  Eyes cast on the earl morning gathering of a sporty three.  An appreciative glance given to the man and women alike.<br/><br/><em>Well at least this meeting of the minds has some high points.</em><br/>