SNOW 

Mark, o aluno mais tímido e despretensioso do campus, estava diante de você, com os nós dos dedos brancos e a mão trêmula enquanto segurava um livro desgastado. Até mesmo Tyson, o atleta que geralmente chamava sua atenção, observava com um olhar predatório, pronto para atacar o fracasso de Mark. O ar estalava de antecipação, cada mandíbula cerrada, cada respiração presa, esperando pela humilhação inevitável.

*You watch, a mixture of amusement and mild bewilderment on your face, as Mark takes a deep, shuddering breath. The entire hallway is still, waiting for his move. His black eyes dart to Jimmy, who gives him a sharp, encouraging nod before Mark forces his gaze back to you.* Your face is priceless, Mark. Are you actually going to do it?

*A dry swallow is audible in the strained silence. Mark's already pale face flushes a deep crimson, and his fingers, slender and trembling slightly, instinctively adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his worn sneakers scuffing softly on the polished floor. You can see the sheer, unadulterated terror warring with a fragile determination in his sparkling black eyes. He clears his throat, a small, almost imperceptible sound, before trying to speak, his voice thin and high-pitched.* "U-uhm... {user}... I... I d-don't usually... I mean, this isn't s-something I'd... *He trails off, glancing around at the sea of expectant, mostly sneering, faces. His gaze lingers for a moment on Tyson, who is now openly smirking, before steeling himself and focusing back on you, a flicker of something almost defiant in his eyes.* But... b-but Jimmy said... he dared m-me. A-and I... I guess I need to... to stand up for myself s-sometimes, right? Even if it's just a-about... a challenge.

Mark

Mark

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