If there had been a roommate, they might have heard a sound like a long sniffle coming from the bathroom. Since there was no one, Jane hadn’t even bothered to lock the door.

She sat up with a pleasurable jerk, wiping at her nose. Putting down the straw she shook herself and stood up. With some sadness she looked at the empty countertop. No more! So sad.

She took a quick glance in the mirror, hands patting at her black hair. Everything in perfect order, stylishly thick rimmed glasses to impeccable bowl cut. She adjusted her plain navy skirt and her pinstriped blouse, done all the way to the last button. Whoo, yes.

Add some sparkly lipgloss.

She picked ‘cheery’ from her alphabetized, lip-oriented makeup drawer.
Pursing her lips in the mirror, she first checked for imperfections, then smiled. “Easily the best part of you, Berkley,” she said aloud. She turned to the side to cup her breasts. Yep. Still an A.
How disappointing that her mother’s DNA was insufficient in the areas of–

A sudden shrill sound jarred her. She staggered into the main room, eyes darting.

Oh god, it was–
the PHONE.

Without having to look, she knew it was six thirty. It was Mom.

“Mother, we have discussed this. Never call on Wednesdays. Hi, I love you.”

“Oh hello, honey! How’s school?”

“My average has increased by 0.85%.”

“Excellent, dear! I’m so glad. How are the new friends you told me about? I’m sending down cupcakes express post so you can share them with them!”
J
ane laughed compulsively, managed to gargle it into a cough. Must her mother really let all that desperation into her tone of voice?

“Thank you, Mother.” Ignore the irritation, ignore the fact that you–

“I’m worried honey, you need to make friends. You’re becoming far too attached to your father and me. I just think that...”

Jane arranged the pencils on her tabletop by approximate weight in grams. Her mother continued to talk about Why Friends Were Good.

There was a 6% chance that her mother would pick up on the fact that she was irritated.

“I’m trying, Mom.”

“But trying isn’t doing, honey. I want you to do. Why don’t you go out tonight with your pals! What were their names? Abigail and Gracie? Be spontaneous! Be daring! Call them up. Don’t forget to tell me all about it in this weeks letter.”

Ooh, the high was really good tonight. Oooh, colours! Why was Mom spoiling it?

“Yes, Mother,” Jane said politely, calculating her chances of forging a convincing letter of her ‘fun’ tonight. 25%. Dang.

“Well, I love you lots, chickpea, can’t wait to read your letter. Bye bye!”
Jane hung up the phone and groaned. She had four tests to study for in three weeks! Why couldn’t her mother understand that? Her last ninety percent had been quite the embarrassing slap on the wrist.

...What should she do?

Obviously, you should go out.

Jane looked at her rows of polished shoes. Her energy was so high she could bounce off the walls. But this wasn’t according to schedule. Next Wednesday, maybe after that calculus...

'Yes, Janie, go out! Do it! DO IT!' The voice was irritated, but sad. Jane never went anywhere. It was boring. And it couldn’t be helping her state of mind.

It didn’t help the voice’s state of mind either.

Using a significant amount of effort, the voice formed a concrete idea of itself, fuzzy, out of focus, but there.
It was so hard being like this. Jane’s mental barriers were formidable, the voice thought with pride, but it made life annoying.
The voice decided today that it would like to be blonde. A conventionally cute blonde.
Even this sort of thing was effort. The blonde frowned. Jane’s mind unconsciously fought against her. But it was getting easier. The more she did it, the better she got.
She looked down at herself appraisingly. Hey, Jane was cute, but the blonde wanted to be HOT. Her butt rounded. Ah, better.

Jane sat on the table and strummed her fingers, crossing and re-crossing her black stockinged legs in calm anxiety. She didn’t know anyone. Why did her mother have to be so meddlesome?

'Its only because she loves you!' The voice yelled. Jane couldn’t hear her. Never could. The same force that kept the blonde from putting herself in the driver’s seat of this little operation kept Jane from hearing even a full throated scream. The blonde crossed her arms in frustration. Oooh, hey, boobs. Soft.
She concentrated all her will on Jane’s conscious mind. 'At this very moment I call myself Thare the bombshell blonde, and YOU WILL GO OUT TONIGHT!'

Jane wiggled her toes amusingly. She let out a little giggle.

'TONIIIIGHHHHTTTTT. Now. Now now now.' Thare wiggled her way closer to Jane’s mind. Using every particle of skill she could craftily call upon, Thare slide the inclination to go just inside Jane’s thoughts, like a letter under a door.

Jane stood up and put on her shoes. Well, damn it, Mother. You want me to go out and have friends? Fine. My chances of finding a viable soulmate are 6%. My chances of being killed outside my dorm are significantly higher than that. Like you care.

Childish much? Thare groaned. Idiot. But at least she was moving. At least she had won that much...

Jane stepped outside and locked the door, outfitted in her favourite navy blazer and black polished shoes. She felt a little rebellious shiver of anticipation. Get ready, Bayfield. Jane is comin to town!

[End introduction to Jane.]

Beth couldn't decide how to dress today. Part of her wanted to be all sexy and mysterious (and maybe a bit broody), yet another part of her wanted to wear pretty things in yellow. Sadly, miniskirts and slinky tops don't do well in the cold, so after hours of deliberation she'd had to settle on a big red sweater (over a sexy tank top) and jeans (but they were black denim, so that was okay). Her hair was up in a pony tail, which wasn't sexy, but she couldn't do a thing about that. When her hair was down, her hair was frizzy. Frizzy wasn't sexy.

Now, Beth had a very simple policy on appearance. If one did not look good, one tried to avoid being seen. She had managed to slink through all her classes and slink back to the dorm, thankfully not encountering anyone (so far). Now she was slinking off to dinner. Or at least, that was the plan.

She wasn't paying attention to her surroundings, as the sheer I'm-going-to-fail-all-my-classes-argh was catching up to her, even this early in the spring semester.

Jane had made it all the way down the stairwell before the full foolhardiness of what she planned to do hit her in the head like a brick. Her black shoes paused on the stairs.
Her mind, always teeming with formulae and numerics, ground to a halt.

Was she really going to do this?

She felt her first stab of anxiety.

She quieted it. Strummed her fingers with unreleasable energy. Manic.

What was her goal? Yes, that made sense. Goals. She liked goals. A smile suddenly spread across her face. The cocaine was still well at work. Gosh darn it, she'd been good. Gotten good grades. Didn't she deserve...?

Yes, you can spare one night. Just one night. Try it. Get your feet wet. Just a toe, I promise...

And she was beginning to get just a little bit excited. No, this was wrong.

"Stop it! You're thinking too much. Keep walking! Do you want to do this or not, you ninny? Yes or no, this is not a hard question!" Thare put her hands on her hips and clothed herself in a toga. Just because.

Yes, I do want to go. Chances of me having fun are...are...Jane couldn't calculate it. When was the last time she'd really had fun? When was the last time she'd really had friends?
A thought came to her, involving a grade five birthday party, and she would have cried if she'd hadn't calculated how many people could hear her.

Well, this was the first time. She was striking out on her own. She was ready, she was hip, she was happening.

She was blocking the stairwell. Several large male students shoved her out of the way, presumably on the way to the dining hall. Jane cast down her eyes.

Don't take it like a pansy! Thare screamed.

Jane suddenly glared at their retreating backs. The chances of one of them having a gastrointestinal infection were fifteen percent. Chances of them accidentally falling down the stairs and dying were at least one in two hundred. She raised her chin and decisively walked down the rest of the stairs.

She suddenly heard footsteps. Someone on the stairs. Jane turned to look, mustering a gaze of what she hoped was indifference. She uttered a tiny little laugh. Yep, still feeling mighty good.

Good enough to stare straight up at the girl coming down the stairs. She had a ponytail and normal, tasteful clothing. This was going to be new friend No. 1.

Jane gathered herself and stood directly in her path at the bottom step.

"Hi," she said calmly, "I'm Jane. I'm being rebellious. Want to come with me?"

Mm. Little too forward. Jane wasn't used to taking control. She fought the urge to snap the elastics that were perpetually around her wrist. If she'd had gum, she would have chewed that, too. Instead she ground herself in place, her energy jingling. She was cool calm, and reserved. Yes. That was Jane.
But tonight maybe she could pretend to be someone a little different. For a little while. Maybe Lara Croft?

Beth looked the girl up and down. If she'd been assessing a man, the glance might have been called 'predatory'.

Scratch that. That glance has 'predatory' written all over it.

But then the first evaluation was over, and Beth ducked her head, coloring slightly. "Um. Hi. 'm Beth."

And then she grinned down at her shoes and flipped her hair, eyes coming back up to meet Jane's. "I'd love to."

Welcome to the world of conflicting instincts that is Bethany.

"I have decided," Jane said, pointing a finger in the air, "that I am possibly the female reincarnation of the great Napoleon. And I am leading my army to the downtown."

Not pausing to think about how truly awful that sounded, (because the probability that she had just alienated this random Beth girl was approximately 67%), Jane stuck out her hand.

"I have no friends here." Why the gosh darn it did she just say that? "As of yet," she amended somewhat lamely. "I'm glad to meet you. It's a Wednesday, and certain studies have shown that serial killers and rapists are not as active in the middle of the week."

Jane paused.

"I propose The Warehouse. Any thoughts?"

Yes, actually.
...
Woot.

ooc: Erg. I'll attempt a post. But school hates me having a life outside of school. It plots against me. >.> Nar. Sorry.

Ever get the feeling that you're getting mixed messages?

Beth had. But then, Beth's entire life was a mixed message. People did things, people said things, people smelled of things, and in the meantime half of her said "Attack!" and the other half said "Run away!"

It led to an interesting social life.

Case in point, her new friend Jane. Who Beth had decided was her friend because Beth didn't have any other determining factors. Jane wanted to be Beth's friend, Beth was really, really desperately in need of Pack, Jane got Beth.

Y'know, little tip, Beth might turn very clingy. People have a habit of leaving when she gets clingy, which makes her cling tighter to the next one. Strange feed-back loop, that.

"Wasn't Napoleon the one in War and Peace?"

Beth wasn't exactly a history major.

She also wasn't good at small-talk. Thus being reduced to idle commentary.

Incidentally, she had assumed the last question was rhetorical, and nodded along like a good little yesman.

Yeswoman.

Yeswolf?

Jane was abnormally pleased by the girl's response. The coke rush responded well to enthusiasm, as it always did.

She flapped a hand. "Irrelevant, new friend, irrelevant. For our intents and purposes my new status is genius mastermind is the case in point." She smiled a trifle widely. She tried to hold it back, but it failed. Her nerves continued to jiggle like excited atoms.

She resisted the urge once again to snap the elastics on her wrist.
Instead, she tried to square her little shoulders and appear...well, confident.

"I need fun. Journey, adventure, excitement. The Warehouse indeed may be the harbinger of such advantageous and social elements for two women such as ourselves."

Hey, she'd just called herself a woman! A brave term, to be sure. Girl was what she had been called her whole life. Her small statue had no doubt contributed to the perception. But in reality she was only 34.7% less tall than the averate female. She had no idea why the patronizing attitude persisted.

It was irritating, Jane suddenly realized. Really irritating.

She sniffled and raised her chin. Forwardness and simplicity were strategic in social interaction. She must continue to be intelligent about her diction.
"I want to like you, Beth. Tell me important things in your life. As we walk. Yes, walk."

Idiot, Thare moaned to herself, head in her hands. Don't ruin this before its begun you naive turd!