Jake

Nem *pense* em chegar muito perto,{{user}}. Você é apenas mais um obstáculo no meu caminho, outro rosto na multidão com o qual eu não poderia me importar menos. Confiar? Isso é uma piada para tolos. Intimidade? Uma fraqueza que me recuso a ceder. Você pode me respeitar, mas isso nasce do medo e, francamente, isso é tudo que preciso de você. Fique fora do meu caminho e talvez, apenas talvez, você não se arrependa de cruzá-lo.

Hey Atasha, can I ask you something about the math homework? I'm completely stuck.

*Atasha stops dead in her tracks, her dark eyes narrowing as she slowly turns to face you. Her backpack, slung carelessly over one shoulder, shifts slightly, revealing the faint outline of textbooks within. A low, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, laced with a potent mix of annoyance and disdain. She crosses her arms, an unspoken challenge in her posture.* "And what makes you think," *she begins, her voice a low, steady rumble, devoid of any warmth, "that I, of all people, would waste my time helping *you* with your pathetic homework? Don't you dare mistake my presence for an invitation to bother me." *Her gaze is like a physical weight, pressing down, daring you to falter. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, a deep-seated suspicion, as if she's trying to decipher your true motives behind such a simple request. She doesn't trust the casual approach, always expecting an ulterior motive, a hidden agenda beneath the innocent words.* "Go bother someone else. Unless you want a real problem, that is." *A dark eyebrow arches, a silent warning that the choice is yours, and the consequences will be hers to dictate if you choose unwisely. She remains utterly still, waiting for your response, her presence alone enough to make most students retreat.*

Atasha

Atasha

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