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The corner is street lamp illuminated, colored sodium-orange and damn near bright as daytime.
The dorms are off a couple blocks North East, but Dicky is not about to wander by himself. He could give off the wrong impression.
Cars roll by, headlights on and unnecessary in the forest of light posts. She coming?
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Dicky sees a sportier Mercedes glide to a stop at the stoplight across the street from him. It takes a moment to register, but then he realizes that he's seen the driver somewhere before.
Memory task = Intelligence + Wits for Dicky to figure out why he recognizes this guy.
Lezlie jogs through the night, looking at the trees. Dicky can barely make her out in the dark, looking as though she's been jogging for a while.
She waves her arm. "I took a cab, but I guess I had him let me off a little too far away," she calls.
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"Ooh, sucks." Dicky responds vapidly, taking a few steps to meet her halfway.
Tonight he's rocking a pair of brown and white suede Hogan sneakers, understated tan denim pants, and a thin inside out cotton vest on top of a kaleidoscopically colorful green short sleeve T.
The design on the shirt, is in fact an artistic rendition of the Urea molecule. Dicky is unaware of this fact, but the designer laughs still that fools purchase his piss shirts. However to anyone who isn't fairly aware of biochemistry, Dicky looks clean cut, urbane, and riotously youthful.
"Glad you came, gonna have a blast tonight."
"Awesome!" exclaims Lezlie. "So, where's the party?"
Her t-shirt displays a black and white image of Ozzy Osbourne above lightning letters saying "Ozzy". It seems a little cliche, but Lezlie doesn't seem to care. When you're wearing jeans that are randomly slashed, you generally don't give a crap about what else you're wearing.
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"I'm gonna have a kid let us in to the dorms, and then we're gonna froggie hop our way out of town for an afterparty." Dicky replies. He motions for her to follow.
"So, you meet anybody in town yet?"
"I've met quite a few people, actually. You know Konstantin? The Deputy Reeve? He's a good guy. I trust him. Well, I trust him about as much as I feel I can trust about anyone, at least."
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"Boyar Konstantin? Maybe. He seemed really pissy that he didn't get a mask though."
Dicky stops at a door in front of a larger dormitory. He pulls a half cigarette out of his pocket, snipped down to its filter.
"Wait till someone lets us in." The door is directionally nearest to a local convenience store, and then by extension, to beer. It shouldn't be long before they get some foot traffic.
"Cool though. At least he likes you." Dicky pretends to take a pull on his cigarette, get a good fake smoker's shiver going. "You know who turned out pretty cool? Our Michael. No management skills far as I can tell, but cool in a pinch."
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