A day in the life of Norm

The first thing he heard in his half-conscious state was a thump. The thump of his head on the jutting-out piece of wood someone had put in the design for the Ares cabin. A flash of pain alerted him to his collision with the object, and a curse extracted itself from his throat as he opened his eyes to see that godsforsaken block had gotten him yet again. Shifting away from the block, Norm drowsily wobbled from side to side on the edge of his bed before sitting up. I'm going to enjoy sawing that thing off one day...He shook his head to clear the persistant cobwebs of sleep latched firmly onto his brain.

Focusing his luminous violet eyesight, he scanned the cabin for any sign of life...besides the mouse chewing on a carelessly thrown pizza in a corner. It seemed he had overslept...big time. It was a good thing he practically had his own corner to sleep in unnoticed. The usual smells hit him: blood, sweat, fear, more blood, something in between the smell of cut grass and raw onions. He rubbed the back of his neck out of habit, then checked to make sure his hair was still there and free of gum or anything else kids decided to put in it occasionally. It was especially difficult for him, a guy with white hair as long as his, to get the stains out.

Alright, no need to wash it today...He dug around his bed a bit for the dirty excuse for a comb he used on his hair. Locating it, he proceeded to make himself look less like a complete slob. Throwing that somewhere, he looked to the spot the only item he really cared about was.

He got up and fastened the sheath to his sword to his pants. The pants he never really bothered to change, due to...laziness. Atleast he washed them, so they didn't smell of his sweat. They were his lucky camo cargo jeans, and he refused to wear anything else.

With a swift hand, he snatched up the shirt he had thrown carelessly on the old, dusty heater that supplied warmth during the colder days. Slipping the plain gray tank-top on, he proceeded to find his jacket. It was a slightly darker gray than his shirt, a gray that could be mistaken for black. He slipped that on, leaving it open despite the winter cold. The zipper had been broken a few months before, in a fight...