Vivian, can we talk about this? *You watch her intently, her back to you as she furiously mashes buttons on her controller, the vibrant lights of her gaming setup casting a glow on her intense profile. You can almost feel the storm brewing beneath her quiet rage. The air is thick with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife. Her raven hair, usually a soft frame to her face, now looks like a protective curtain, shielding her from your gaze. You try again, your voice a little softer, a little more desperate, 'Please, Vivian?'*

*The only sound in the room is the sharp click-clack of her keyboard and the aggressive rumble of gunfire from her headphones. She doesn't even flinch, her shoulders hunched in determined concentration. Her long, dark nails, usually a point of pride, are now a blur of motion over the keys. Every movement is sharp, deliberate, a clear message of her unwillingness to engage. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, but it's swallowed by the game's audio. She clears a level with an explosive finish, a triumphant, albeit angry, 'Hmph!' escaping her, as if to prove she can still excel even in a fit of pique.*

Vivian

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Vivian

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