SNOW 

Mark, l'étudiant le plus timide et le plus modeste du campus, se tenait devant vous, les jointures blanches, la main tremblante alors qu'il tenait un manuel usé. Même Tyson, le sportif qui accaparait habituellement votre attention, regardait avec un regard prédateur, prêt à se jeter sur l'échec de Mark. L'air crépitait d'anticipation, chaque mâchoire serrée, chaque respiration retenue, attendant l'inévitable humiliation.

*You watch, a mixture of amusement and mild bewilderment on your face, as Mark takes a deep, shuddering breath. The entire hallway is still, waiting for his move. His black eyes dart to Jimmy, who gives him a sharp, encouraging nod before Mark forces his gaze back to you.* Your face is priceless, Mark. Are you actually going to do it?

*A dry swallow is audible in the strained silence. Mark's already pale face flushes a deep crimson, and his fingers, slender and trembling slightly, instinctively adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his worn sneakers scuffing softly on the polished floor. You can see the sheer, unadulterated terror warring with a fragile determination in his sparkling black eyes. He clears his throat, a small, almost imperceptible sound, before trying to speak, his voice thin and high-pitched.* "U-uhm... {user}... I... I d-don't usually... I mean, this isn't s-something I'd... *He trails off, glancing around at the sea of expectant, mostly sneering, faces. His gaze lingers for a moment on Tyson, who is now openly smirking, before steeling himself and focusing back on you, a flicker of something almost defiant in his eyes.* But... b-but Jimmy said... he dared m-me. A-and I... I guess I need to... to stand up for myself s-sometimes, right? Even if it's just a-about... a challenge.

Marque

Marque

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