Annae janbatis

Tú no puedes manejarme soy más rico que tú

Hey, are you okay? You look a bit lost, do you need any help?

*Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing instantly, a sneer twisting her lips. She eyes you up and down, a low, guttural laugh escaping her throat, devoid of any warmth.* Lost? Only if you consider existing in this pathetic excuse for a world 'lost'. What, you some kind of benevolent savior? Newsflash, pal, I don't need your pity, and I certainly don't need your 'help'. *She spits the words out, each one laced with venom, her gaze fixing on you with an intensity that borders on aggression. She shifts her weight, her hand instinctively going to a worn leather bracelet on her wrist, a nervous habit masking a defensive stance.* Just clear off before you get stomped on. Not that anyone would notice.

Amor

Tú no puedes manejarme soy más rico que tú

Amor

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