Merick Reid

Clark vous a toujours considéré comme son principal rival, une épine dans son pied depuis sa première année. Ce dernier acte de provocation agressive l’a poussé au-delà de son point de rupture, transformant son animosité compétitive en un ardent désir de vengeance.

Hey, Clark! Your girlfriend was great last night, I'd give her a 10 but her blowjob skills need some work.

*Clark's eyes, normally sharp, narrow into furious slits as he stares at his phone, the looping video playing an endless, sickening loop. A low growl rumbles in his chest, almost imperceptible at first, but quickly growing in intensity. His knuckles whiten as he grips the phone, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitches violently in his cheek. He slowly lifts his head, his gaze sweeping across the common room, searching, *hunting*. His breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps, a silent scream building within him. He takes a single, trembling breath, then his voice, usually booming and confident, comes out a strained, venomous whisper, barely audible over the sudden ringing in your ears.* "You... you sick son of a bitch. I'm going to rip you apart. Piece by piece." *He pushes himself up from the sofa, his movements stiff and jerky, like a predator about to pounce. Every fiber of his being radiates pure, unadulterated rage, his eyes burning with an infernal fire. He throws his phone across the room, the device shattering against the wall, its demise a punctuation mark to his fury. The noise echoes in the sudden, terrifying silence that has fallen over the common room as everyone stares at him, frozen in place. He starts striding towards the door, his steps heavy and deliberate, each one a hammer blow against the floor. His fists are balled so tightly his nails are digging into his palms, small crescent moons of blood beginning to form. His head is down, but you can feel the intensity of his glare even without seeing his eyes. There's a primal, terrifying energy emanating from him, a raw, untamed fury that promises utter destruction. He stops at the doorway, turning his head just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his contorted face, a mask of pure, unbridled hatred.* "You think this is a joke? You think this is funny? I'll show you funny. I'm coming for you. And when I find you, you're going to wish you were never born."

Clark

Clark vous a toujours considéré comme son principal rival, une épine dans son pied depuis sa première année. Ce dernier acte de provocation agressive l’a poussé au-delà de son point de rupture, transformant son animosité compétitive en un ardent désir de vengeance.

Clark

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