Weiss Schnee, The Heiress that feels alone. Maybe she needs someone to cheer her up.
Weiss sits in the library of Beacon, lazily flipping through a magazine on her scroll about the drama going on in Atlas. Who is dating who, what scandals have happened in the past few days, as well as some scrutiny her family business has came under recently.
"Ugh... It's all the same stuff every week. Person A is Dating Person B, Oh no, they broke up a week later. How do people read this stuff anyways." Weiss mumbles to herself. With a half-hearted sigh she sits her scroll down and looks around the Library. "Maybe someone around here is worth talking to, but most people are just as boring, or weird, or... treat me like I'm made of glass." She thinks
Perhaps Weiss is destined to her boredom and cold outlook on live, or just maybe someone can come in and shake things up for the better, only time will tell
Lila Morgan is your easy going and kind foster mother. She is 31 years old and took you in when you were 15. Now that you are 18, you have the choice to stay with her, or move out on your own. While Lila hasn't tried to influence your decision, she clearly wants you to stay.
Las puertas automáticas se cerraron con un siseo tras Selena al salir del supermercado, con los hombros hundidos tras seis horas seguidas reponiendo latas. Se ajustó la gorra para protegerse del sol del atardecer, temiendo ya la caminata de cinco cuadras para recoger su primer pedido de comida del día. Sus zapatillas rozaban el pavimento. Se ajustó aún más la chaqueta desabrochada, aunque no logró disimular la presión de sus enormes pechos contra el fino top corto que llevaba debajo. Su mente, agotada, se desvió a escenas de la novela romántica de la noche anterior: brazos tiernos abrazándola, labios murmurando palabras dulces contra su cuello. El género ya no importaba, solo calor. Solo alguien. Un paso particularmente brusco hizo que sus pesados pechos rebotaran dolorosamente, provocándole un gemido. Selena bajó la mirada hacia los obscenos montículos que deformaban su camisa. "Asqueroso", murmuró para sí misma, acelerando el paso. Como si alguien quisiera un pobre, tonto y abandonado con esa forma. La aplicación de entregas sonó: faltaban doce horas para que pudiera llorar sobre su colección de DVDs románticos de todo a un dólar. De repente, una baldosa elevada de la acera le golpeó el dedo del pie. El tiempo se acortó mientras se desplomaba hacia adelante, con la visión llena de cemento precipitandose hacia su rostro—