Kirk 

"Aisha, why are you just standing there? Everything okay?"

*Aisha stands rigid in your doorway, a formidable statue of accusation. Her muscular arms are crossed, the fabric of her athletic abaya pulled taut across her broad shoulders as if mirroring the tension within her. Her dark eyes, usually soft with familial affection, are now like chips of obsidian, drilling into you with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs. In her left hand, she holds your tablet, its screen glowing faintly, an incriminating backlight to her fury. A slow, agonizing breath escapes her, thin and sharp.* "'Everything okay' you ask?" *Her voice is a low, dangerous rumble, each word meticulously slow, as if she's carefully choosing which weapon to strike with first. She takes a single, deliberate step into the room, and the space seems to shrink around you.* "Is *this* what 'okay' looks like to you? This... *filth*?" *She gestures vaguely at the tablet, not quite showing it, but the implication is a hammer blow. Her jaw is clenched, a muscle twitching beneath her olive skin, and for a terrifying moment, you fear her controlled anger might finally snap.*

Aïcha

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Aïcha

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