Jennifer Flint
Lieu: Roast et Toast, Café local
Interagir avec: Malcom 

Jen sourit alors que l'homme et sa petite amie gentiment s'asseyaient à table, attendant une minute ou deux avant de se diriger vers eux.
"Salut, je m'appelle Jen, je serai ton serveur pour la journée," dit-elle d'un ton joyeux.
C'était sympa de voir le café occupé, même si elle avait plus de travail à faire. Si ça voulait dire voir ces gens avec un sourire sur leur visage, elle dirait que ça valait le coup.
"Que commanderez-vous aujourd'hui?" Elle a demandé au couple de retirer son petit bloc-notes à la crème.
L'homme a d'abord fait un geste à son partenaire, qui a réussi à lui faire perdre les yeux pendant un moment pour regarder Jen.
"Je voudrais commander un frappuccino chocolat s'il vous plaît," dit-elle poliment.
L'homme a dit : "Je vais juste prendre un latte."
Jen leur a donné un pouce.
« Je vous les apporte dans un instant », a-t-elle dit, avant de retourner au comptoir et de préparer les boissons.
Elle s'est un peu bourdonnée alors qu'elle a fini le latte, la machine frappuccino qui s'est évanouie en arrière-plan. Elle versa les deux verres dans des tasses et les transporta, les plaçant sur la table. Elle riait un peu en rentrant au comptoir. Le couple n'avait même pas remarqué, complètement concentré l'un sur l'autre comme ils tenaient la main. Ça l'a rendue heureuse.
Jen regarda l'horloge et vit que c'était la fin du quart de travail. Elle a enlevé son tablier de travail et s'est emparée de son manteau, en sautant la tête dans la cuisine pour dire au revoir au patron.
"Je m'en vais de Joe. A la semaine prochaine!" Elle a crié sur la raquette qui était la petite cuisine.
Il a levé la main en reconnaissance, Jen sortant quand elle a vu cela, agitant le couple pendant qu'elle les passait. Elle est sortie dans l'air frais, les sons de la ville tout autour d'elle, les voitures qui zooment après, le vendeur de journaux criant au coin de la rue. Elle a marché de l'autre côté de la rue, profitant de l'agitation incomparable qui était New York. Il ne lui a pas fallu longtemps pour atteindre son appartement, les bâtiments propres et modernes, une vue heureuse. Elle était revenue en ville il y a quelques jours, voulant s'assurer qu'elle soit vraiment là pour les premiers jours de son mandat. Il serait utile pour les premières années d'avoir quelqu'un autour au cas où ils auraient besoin d'aide avec n'importe quoi. Et Jen a estimé qu'elle avait une assez bonne compréhension de tous les aspects amusants de New York à ce stade.
Elle s'est faufilée avec la serrure et les clés, marchant dans les escaliers et atteignant la porte de son propre appartement, 3C pour être spécifique. Elle a tordu la clé et est entrée avec un sourire.
"Malcom chérie, je suis à la maison!" Elle l'a appelé d'une voix trop sournoise.
Eh bien, posher que son accent anglais normal.
I'm picky. It's Paul Simon that I care about, not Garfunkel; Mercury but not the rest of Queen; about 1/3 of the Beatles' songs; all of Julie London 'cos her voice is a caramel frappuchino and– Hey, wouldn't that make a good line?
But where was I? I'm picky. Not everything does it for me.

║ Name ║
Alexander Chance Calhoun
║ Acceptable Nicknames ║
No reference to his first name is allowed – no Alexander, no Alex, no Ali, no Al. Chance only, please.
║ Birthday & Age ║
February 14th, 1997 – Nineteen
Abbeville, GA
║ Gender & Sexual Orientation ║
Male
Bisexual
║ Occupation ║
Busker, freelancer, and that one weird guy jamming at the bus stop. Chance's future depends on making his name known now – if not yesterday – but that doesn't mean unpaid internships for him. He makes spare cash when he can from playing the guitar and singing trashy indie music on street corners; playing the harmonica for shoppers; and carrying a tune and a tip jar literally everywhere he goes. Oh, and on occasion, he plays at piano bars.
║ Appearance ║
You're a noodle, Chance Calhoun. Standing at 6'2" with a certain lack of meat on his bones, it's abundantly clear why he's considered to be a beanpole. Nineteen years old and still in a period of growth has left him disproportionate, with long arms and legs, and in the period since his application to Mortimer alone he's shot up another inch. It doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon and until it does, Chance will continue to lumber about clumsily as if he hasn't quite grown used to his own body yet.
His facial features are not particularly noteworthy. He has short, expressive brows often furrowed in confusion that may have been shaved off at the ends a few months ago during a particularly wild going-away party. Chance has thin, chapped lips from worrying at them so often and a bright, wide smile that is frequently seen. Green-eyed. Naturally his most prominent feature is his glorious mane of hair, long and curly and entirely typical of an art student. Some might think it would get in the way of his singing or playing or anything, really, but he's determined to keep it: after all, what sort of rockstar would he be if he couldn't flip his hair?
Chance's style is 'Macklemore on a budget'. Yes, he owns a fur coat, and no, he doesn't wear it very often. Generally he favours darker colours, blues and purples and greens, and wears vibrant shirts in these shades. He wears t-shirts to show off his sleeve of tattoos, of which there are a few mismatching ones done cheaply in his hometown but none he actively regrets getting.
  
"And I never wanted anything from you
Except everything you had and what was left after that too, oh
Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back
Struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that"
Florence + The Machine - Dog Days Are Over
║ Personality ║
The Positive:
 Audacious – Some might consider this to be a character flaw, but not Chance. Taking risks has been a part of his entire being for as long as he can remember. Fearlessness comes with a large resume of previously terrifying experiences triumphed over, and he's unafraid of looking stupid for his creativity gone wrong.
 Outgoing – Smiles are difficult to fake, Chance is well aware, but the more people surrounding him – listening to him – the more at ease and genuine he feels. He is a classic extrovert: wants to know everyone, never wants to be alone. 
 Enthusiastic – You're an artist? Awesome! Dancer? Yeah, Chance is half-decent at the Macarena. A side-effect of his natural interest in being with other people is being interested in what they do. It's not just limited to others, either; he's certain that there's never been anyone with as much unbridled passion for music in the world as he does.

The Negative:

 Stubborn – No, you're wrong. Chance holds his taste in music above everyone else and will fight anyone who challenges his views; and, believe him, he can debate for hours on the merits of the 'emo' scene versus the charts of the early 2000s or the problem with country in 2016.
 Addict – Does Chance seem like the type to go to an AA meeting? 'Hi, I'm an alcoholic... and a lot of other things.' – no, it doesn't really fit in with the projected view of himself. Is it even such a big deal? He justifies any little quirk of substance abuse with claims that all the best artists were addicts, too.
 Anxious – In most cases, as cool as a cucumber outwardly. Inside he's all muddled up, a mess of fraying nerves and nervous butterflies that cloud up his mind and make his fingers go numb in the middle of playing. Without his anti-anxiety meds, Chance doubts he would have even been able to enter the room of his audition.

What You See:
Loud, boisterous, ever-friendly; someone who cares a lot about other people but not so much what they think of him. Chance is a typical first year – not entirely independent yet, though the reasons for that are kept solidly under wraps – who is dead into experience all that Mortimer (and college life) has to offer. He is clearly known for eclectic tastes in music, and also perhaps for his methods of beating around the bush when people suggest music to him that he doesn't particularly like. For the most part, he wears his emotions on his face so he might seem honest. Which he is. Sort of.
What I Know:
Chance hides a lot, not only from other people but also from himself. Addiction problems, definitely, anxiety being another core issue. He likely keeps this from even close friends; however, only dropping a few hints here and there as a desperate attempt at seeking approval, or at least acknowledgement of his problem as 'not a big deal'. His issues with dependency boil down to looking up to his mother for most of his childhood and trusting her judgement more than his own. He still calls her up every other day to let her know how he's doing.
  
"If it's illegal to rock and roll, throw my ass in jail!" - Kurt Cobain
║ My Dreams ║
Fame, honey. Fame makes the world go 'round. Chance wants his name to be known worldwide. He wants people to be singing, chanting, humming his anthemic tunes at festivals and sporting events, at late night discos, everywhere. And do you know what comes with fame? Money. Wealth. Possessions. Chance is vaguely self-aware enough to know that it's an important motivating factor in his life.
He doesn't want to live if he's going to live the life of a starving, underappreciated artist.
║ Fears ║

 Death. More than that, dying alone – in a nursing home, perhaps, or after an overdose.
(Hope there's someone / Who'll take care of me / When I die, will I go?)
 Failure to attain his goals, or become something. It's a fate worse than death for Chance.
(Dear Doubt / You wore out a path to my door / And it's needless to say there's no way that I want you here)
 Desensitization. Chance cares quite a great deal about other people's feelings, and losing that would make looking in the mirror impossible.
(Oh my love / I know I am a cold cold man)
║ Likes ║

 Shopping in thrift stores, finding fashionable gems in the discount bins.
(I'm a take your grandpa's style, I'm a take your grandpa's style / No for real - ask your grandpa - can I have his hand-me-downs?)
 Music – lives and breathes it. Preferred genres: Rock, Indie, Country, Jazz, Classical– Everything, basically.
(Radio, what's new? / Radio, someone still loves you!)
 Spirituality. Mama raised him Roman-Catholic and you bet your ass he still practices.
(But everybody's bones are just holy branches / Cast from trees to cut patterns in the world)
 Calming things. Candles, incense, cute lil' dogs, drugs.
(Wish we could turn back time, to the good ol' days / When our momma sang us to sleep but now we're stressed out)
 Studying musical theory, attending classes, asking questions at lectures... School in general.
(All I learnt at school / Was how to bend not break the rules)
 People. Friends. Chance can count the people that he doesn't like on one hand, and one of them is Boy George.
(Nothing you confess / Could make me love you less / I'll stand by you)
 The Beatles. John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Together. God, he hopes nobody finds his blog.
(I don't want to lose you / Use you or abuse you / But if you have to go / I'll wait)

║ Dislikes ║
 Morbid topics – death, despair, illness, horror stories.
(As I kissed her goodbye, I said, "All beauty must die" / And lent down and planted a rose between her teeth)
 Most* types of house and rave music, along with forgettable tracks he might hear in night clubs.
(I crashed my car into the bridge / I don't care – I love it)
 The worst parts of New York City: pollution, noise, and a distinct lack of stars in the sky.
(Going home / Where the New York City winters / Aren't bleeding me)
 Insomnia. Chance would love to sleep whole days away, but sometimes he isn't able to at all from the weight of the world.
(I'm so tired / I haven't slept a wink / I'm so tired / My mind is on the blink)
 Lying (but he does it anyway).
(Why the fuck you lying / Why you always lying)
 Poverty.
(To fall in love and fall in debt / To alcohol and cigarettes)
 The cold. God, the cold sucks.
(I remember T-shirt weather / I remember some days / We were singing our lungs out)

║ Brief History ║
Mother – Elizabeth Calhoun; an almost stereotypical Southern lady with an accent as thick as molasses and an extended family numbering almost half of their small town. Chance is her third child, and he has two older half-brothers, neither of whom share the same father. The Calhoun family lived and has always lived in a small house (too small) in rural Georgia, paid for by Elizabeth Calhoun's wealthy parents. They subsisted on the part-time income of a single mother: one that wasn't consistent as she tended to 'quit' often to concentrate on her 'writing'.
See, Elizabeth Calhoun was a budding playwright, once. She auditioned for Mortimer, sent in her portfolio, and was rejected. Rather than math or science or football, as tended to be the favourite futures of small town parents, she pushed her children towards artistic pursuits. Chance had no problem with this, his natural talent for performance and carrying a tune becoming more prominent as he grew up to play on his brother's old guitar. Summers were spent with his grandparents on their farm, where he learned piano from his grandmother. For extra cash to buy whatever he wanted, busking was how he made it – that, and talent competitions.
His mother was elated. Focusing entirely on her youngest, she damaged the relationship with her older sons irreparably and pushed and pushed Chance into pushing himself. It was almost threatening: if he didn't study this, if he didn't go and play for three hours right at that very moment, he was doomed to be stuck in poverty for the rest of his life. And who would want that? His grades suffered but what were they in the grand scheme of things? Chance would become something special if he spent more time cultivating the talent of perfect pitch that God gave him, clearly, so he did just that.
His brothers begged him to come and stay with them, the apartment they had rented. He refused. His brothers sent him some leaflets, when he started to take pills to deal with what he thought was anxiety and likely was. He sent them back in the mail – a mama's boy to the end. A year after preparing for the Mortimer auditions, most of it spent with his grandmother while Elizabeth Calhoun holidayed in Zanzibar with a new boyfriend and artistic muse, he booked a flight to New York City to try and get in.
And he did.

║ Area of Study ║
Rock (Major) / Songwriting (Minor)
 The History and Influences of Rock
 Composition and Performance
 Lyrics and Lyrical Analysis
║ About My Audition ║
He put down a tip jar, cracked a joke and pretended he wasn't dying inside from nerves. Chance showcased a wide range of genres in the short audition. He emphasised his influences of Queen and Bowie; then sang an improvised Julie London 'Cry Me a River' when he worried that wasn't working; and, finally, he hit all the notes in 'Take On Me' with a naturally biting and slightly nervous tone.
║ Year ║
First
║ Living Arrangement ║
Callaway Hall, 3E
║ Extra information ║
Voice Reference
Clubs: Soccer, Songwriting, LGBT