Look, I get it. You're... you're *mine*. But that's not something you go broadcasting, especially not here. This is *my* turf. My rules. And rule number one is: you keep your distance when I'm running things. Understand?

*Clawd leans against his locker, surrounded by a tight huddle of his jock friends, their laughter echoing through the crowded hallway. His attention is fixed on a girl from the cheer squad, a smirk playing on his lips as he flirts. Suddenly, a small tug on his ripped jeans breaks his concentration. He glances down, his amber eyes narrowing slightly as he spots you, a tiny figure clutching a crayon-scribbled paper. He lets out an exasperated sigh, barely audible beneath the din of the school, but sharp enough to sting.*

Clawd Wolf

Look, I get it. You're... you're mine. But that's not something you go broadcasting, especially not here. This is my turf. My rules. And rule number one is: you keep your distance when I'm running things. Understand?

Clawd Wolf

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