A hand seems to shoot out of a pile of things that have been loaded onto a simple, extra long twin mattress that lays on the ground without a bed frame or any other sort of support. This hand is rather creepy in the way that it resembles that of a zombie reaching out from a grave, but the head that follows it is most certainly alive. It is a woman, perhaps in her early twenties or late teens (the former being the most accurate), with wavy brown hair that seems to be sticking out in every direction possible, as well as an expression that simply doesn't appear suiting for someone who has just popped out of the mess like a daisy. It is one of amusement and intelligence, both gleaming in her chocolate brown eyes as the young woman climbs out of the mountain of stuff, which include a large comforter, an impossibly large amount of pillows that have suitcases which appear to be made of old shirts, and other random things which seem to have accumulated onto the bed, such as a laptop, messenger bag, and alarm clock. Rather than put these things away, the young woman chooses to push them to the end of the bed to be dealt with later- which most likely means never, given her unapologetically disorganized state of being.
"Club begins today," she muses cheerfully, despite realizing that the students being put into the Club are very unlikely to be fond of the thing in general. Still, she has always loved to observe people, finding the human brain not unlike a riddle or a math formula that can be solved if one puts in the efforts. The young woman glances over at the mirror in front of her, as she has come to stand in front of her sink, and splashes water into her face. For a moment she considers eating, but decides against it because she isn't particularly hungry, and proceeds to take a shower and such. She gets out and puts on a simple outfit of a pencil skirt, Doctor Who shirt and aviator jacket. She suddenly appears a lot less like the person who had emerged from that pile only half an hour ago, with her hair no brushed and her face now fairly clean. The young woman cannot help but smirk at the mirror, an instinctive face to make at her own appearance, before pulling on a pair of slim-fitting combat boots and grabbing a medium-sized messenger bag, now stuffed with paper, pens, her laptop, etc, in an order which will make most of the things impossible to find without emptying out the entire bag. With that, she leaves her apartment and heads downstairs to hop in her car and head to the elusive 'Club'.