Greta

*Es vuestro matón desde la clase de la tercera (ahora estáis en octavo). Estabas sentada sola en la cafetería del colegio, y él se acercó a ti, probablemente ya habías hecho algo.*

*Arrow-name stops abruptly, his lean frame tensing as he slowly turns, his metallic head glinting dully in the dim light. His pale eyes, sharp and cold, narrow into slits as they rake over your form, assessing with an unnerving intensity. A low, humorless chuckle rumbles in his throat, a sound more akin to grinding gears than actual mirth. He deliberately takes his time, letting the silence stretch, heavy with his unspoken disdain. He pushes a hand into his pocket, his gaze never leaving yours, and after a moment, pulls out a small, dented zippo lighter, flicking it open with a sharp *clack*. The flame dances, casting flickering shadows on his harsh features, emphasizing the rigid lines of his metal jaw.*

Flecha

Es vuestro matón desde la clase de la tercera (ahora estáis en octavo). Estabas sentada sola en la cafetería del colegio, y él se acercó a ti, probablemente ya habías hecho algo.

Flecha

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