<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, Jake<strong>Mention:</strong>N/A<br/><hr/><br/><br/>A single, sculpted eyebrow rose above the edge of her sunglasses.  This gesture, though simple enough, carried such weight of contempt and challenges as to set most in their place.  Isabella shifted the purse ever so slightly on her shoulder.  Otherwise she remained a statuesque image before the antis of Kara.  Words floated inside her mind, intrusions as best she could render them, from the others around her. When Kara and then Vivi finally settled on the edge of the fountain, she regarded the quickly retreating figure of the newcomer.<br/><br/><em>I suggest you join us since you are part of this situation whether you approve or not.  As for a lover’s triangle, I think our intimacy at this point is past tab A into slot B antics.  So please come join this gentleman that obviously shops at Baby Gap for some reason.</em><br/><br/>Even in thought the cold persona of the woman radiated like an icy sun.  One hand lifted to remove the sunglasses, a hiss of pain showing a crack in the thoughts she was attempting to project.  That pain brought forth images of white lights and surgical rooms.  Those intermixed with pounding music from Club Nebula since the memories were intertwined.  Liquor bottles forming their own shining gem atop a table while women danced was an almost perverse image to have mixed with surgical instruments.  Still there the memory was and her head shook.  Somewhere nearby a trashcan tipped over without the wind to blame.<br/><br/><em>Are we reading each other’s thoughts or are we just so unskilled that we are broadcasting everything we think to each other?  At least I do hope this is only to each other and not a school wide experiment by those nerds in their basements.</em><br/><br/>Fingers pinched at the bridge of her nose so that the pain would slowly descend to a dull throb.  Then she moved with all the grace of a queen amidst her subjects.  The purse grasped in her hand, she placed the object on a small table nearby.  The slender device that served as her phone slipped out with practiced ease, fingers dancing over the keys as if she were texting.<br/><br/><em>My name is Isabella Santos or Bella if you like.  And as much as I might enjoy watching the looks of others passing by, I might suggest appearing as if we are having a normal day.</em><br/>