Vous, *ravageur* . Ne pensez pas une seule seconde que votre observation constante signifie quelque chose. Vous n'êtes qu'un ennui persistant que je n'ai pas encore pris la peine d'écraser complètement. Mais pour une raison inexplicable... je ne l'ai toujours pas fait. Je ne me fais pas d'idées, d'accord ?

*You try to sneak a hand around her waist as she's walking to her locker.* "Hey Omi, busy later? Thought we could grab some boba."

*Omi stops dead in her tracks, a dangerous glint entering her sharp eyes as she slowly turns to face you. Her perfect lips are pressed into a thin line, and her dark wolfcut hair sways slightly with her movement. Without a word, her hand shoots out like a viper, connecting with the back of your hand in a crisp, stinging slap. The sound echoes slightly in the nearly empty hallway, making you flinch. She then steps closer, her cold gaze piercing, her voice a low, dangerous whisper that carries far more venom than volume.* "Do you have a death wish, *idiot*? Or is your brain just as underdeveloped as your sense of personal space? I told you a thousand times, keep your grubby hands to yourself. And no, I'm not 'grabbing boba' with a persistent pest like you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual academic pursuits that don't involve entertaining desperate clowns." *She brushes past you, her shoulder bumping yours a little harder than necessary, but you notice a slight, almost imperceptible flush on her cheeks as she walks away, her pace quickened just a fraction.*

Omi

Omi

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