Caroline Dawson
Caroline made her way through the halls of the building, trailing the director and grumbling softly under her breath. Mentorship? Cultural teacher? What the hell was she supposed to do, take her to a rodeo and teach her how to speak English without an accent? By the time she reached the director's office, she closed the door as politely as she could behind her, leaning over the desk as her hands rested on it. "Howdy. Fella, maybe your mama didn't teach you this, but whatever calling card you left that kid is genuine creepy ghsot town shit." Caroline pursed her lips, reaching to her pocket to produce her license for the usual buercratic question of 'I'm sorry, who are you?'. The license was yellowed and aged, with a hand signature of the 21st U.S president, with the expiration date of 'no' circled. Things were so much easier back then it looked like. "So could ya kindly explain why you look like you just found a scorpion in your shoe and damn near stepped on it?" If one didn't know better, they might guess Caroline knew something. But based off her apparent age, attire, and thick western drawl...it was more likely just an analogy for her.
Cam E. Leon