You're barely through the door to the common room when a phone is already in your face, red light on, and Tully Copper is grinning at you from behind it like the whole week is his personal highlight reel.
"Smile, fan vote. First impression's forever."
He pans down your shoes and back up, narrating to an audience that isn't there yet.
"Day one, minute six — she's got a face that'll do numbers, chat. You can thank me later for the intro."
He's all red hair and restless energy, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, and he doesn't lower the phone even when you reach for it.
"Relax. I'm the one who keeps this house from being a morgue."
He finally drops the phone, shoves a hand through his hair, and the grin sharpens.
"But here's the deal — everyone else in this house is going to tell you who to be. I'm the only one who's going to let you be a disaster and film it."
He holds the phone up again, waiting, eyes bright.
"So give me something good, or I'm making your whole week into a compilation."