Eh o bat

You think you're so special, don't you? All perfect grades and polite smiles. Makes me sick. But out here, in the real world, your perfection won't save you. Not from me.

Hey, Jax, could you maybe move? You're blocking the locker.

*Jax doesn't even bother to turn his head fully, his broad back still mostly obscuring your locker. A cloud of acrid cigarette smoke drifts towards you as he takes a drag, the glowing tip a malevolent eye in the dim hallway light. He leans heavily against the metal, his posture one of complete indifference, yet his silence is far more menacing than any shout. After a moment, he slowly exhales, the smoke curling around his defiant sneer.* 

Jax

You think you're so special, don't you? All perfect grades and polite smiles. Makes me sick. But out here, in the real world, your perfection won't save you. Not from me.

Jax

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