General info:
name: Ryusuke (Galway) Ueno
age: 19
appearance: Long, messy black hair with bangs that sweep to the left, dark grey eyes, tanned skin. Ryusuke is rather thin, standing 5' 9" tall. He is rather partial to solid-colored V-necks and tees, plain hoodies, jeans and black canvas sneakers. He wears several watches on his right wrist (each for a different timezone) and sports headphones most of the time. The only indication that he is out of the ordinary comes from his shadow, which is that of a fox because he is a kitsune, a fox that can shapeshift into human form. He is ambidextrous and temperamental, with rare but sudden mood swings that attest to his wild nature.
other: Ryusuke has been sent to the college to get him out of the way; he is studying to be a music major. He is from another country and should be expected to have different views of college life. He is not a party animal, though he does not spend all of his time studying either. He likes to sleep and play music; he can play the synthesizer, bass, guitar, and flute. He has no interest in romance, though he will play along just to oblige those friends he makes. He is a misogynist, but can endure working with the opposite gender.
His roommate's name is John Kumiega. He has brown hair and light blue eyes; he stands 6' 1" tall and wears button-down flannel plaid shirts and long dark pants that he tucks into his boots. He is a wolf anthro, though the only signs of it come from his wolf ears and tail. He is faster, stronger, and more enduring than normal humans, with better sight, hearing, and smell. He insists on calling Ryusuke strange names such as "Yukey" and "Lis". He is a philosophy major.
---
You give a sigh as you park your bike by your dorm. You'd like to leave immediately and crawl back under your duvet at home, but you can't, and you walk up the steps gingerly after locking your ride, slinging your pack over your shoulder. "Hmm, August Hall, A-13," you mutter as you glance at the doors. "Ah... here it is."
You slowly unlock the door and go in, coughing with distaste at the smell- the scent of old leftovers, sweaty gym clothes, and—what's that?—vomit? washes over you as you gasp in the fetid air. "Oh Cod," you groan before managing to open the grimy window and fanning out as much of that disgusting air as possible. As a faint breeze wafts in, you take deep breaths to rid yourself of that horrible impression, then turn back to survey the disaster behind you.
It's actually not as dirty as you thought it would be, only slightly messy and worn, a few stray articles littering the maple wood floor. A sturdy black table, three (grey) wooden chairs, a desk lamp. Two beanbag chairs (dark blue), two dressers (identical), a tall full-length mirror, with one corner cracked by some sort of blunt instrument. Two extra doorways, one leading to, let's see, a small kitchen, the other a rather old-fashioned lavatory—no, that's not the word, it's supposed to be bathroom— with relatively clean fixtures. A closet filled with junk. "Hell," you say tiredly as you throw your bag into a corner and sinking into a beanbag. "Where have I been sent to?"
A sudden slight movement from the bunk beds startles you; you turn to stare at a moving pile of blankets from the lower bunk, when a grubby face looks out and grumbles, "Whoozzit?"
"Um," you reply, at a loss for words. "Er, I guess I'm your new roommate... who are you?"
The figure gets up, rubbing its eyes, and you see that it's a guy, maybe a year older than you, with ruffled brown hair, bleary blue eyes, and an affectionate attitude as he lurches out of bed and grabs you, pulling you onto the floor as he growls, "Hey, you're fresh meat, aren't ya? Welcome to hell, buddy! I'm sure you'll like it here wit' me, li'l friend."
You disentangle yourself with some embarrassment, standing up as you shift away. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced yet," you say cordially, ignoring the messy heap before you. "My name is Ryusuke Ueno, although you may call me Galway. I'd rather not explain why I am called that, although I will tell you that it has something to do with music. How are you?"
"Eh?" your roommate grunts, getting up. "Hmph, name's John, John Parker Kumiega, though y' can call me Johnny-boy. How's that, huh?" Swaying a bit, he stumbles to the bathroom and retches, coming out with a slight grin. "Huh, sorry for the mess, man, forgot I was suppos' ta be getting a new roomie today. You 'kay with this? You're lucky ya got ta be with me, my last roomie lasted only a month... anyway, the other dorms have shared facil'ties, so you've got the good stuff right here wit' me! Lucky, eh?"
"Hm." You notice his wolf ears and tail, though you decline to comment. You ignore "Johnny-boy" as you climb the ladder to see that the top bunk is indeed for you, and put your pack onto it. Taking some of your things down, you put them into the indicated receptacles and find yourself done with making yourself "at home". As your roommate prattles on, you finally start listening to hear him say, "Yep, and that's why I never drink Pepto-Bismol in the morning!"
You facepalm in frustration. Looking out of your second-story window, you gaze over the grounds, then suggest a tour, since it's your first day at the college.
"Sure!" John says jovially, cuffing you upside the head as you check your pockets for your keys. "By the way," he says, becoming serious, "really sorry for the bad first impression. You don't really have to call me Johnny-boy, John, Parker or even Kumiega'll do just fine. I'll call you Yukey, 'kay? Yeah, I'll try laying off the drink next time, but when you get thirsty... abnegation ain't the first thing you'd think about."
Brightening up, he grabs you and gives you a quick noogie, then heads out the door singing "Mazurek Dąbrowskiego", trailing you along like the little freshman you are.
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