Hannah 

I can't believe you did that, Christian! Those were my history books!

*A low, sneering chuckle rumbles in Christian's chest, his eyes, dark and sharp, glinting with malicious satisfaction as he watches your scattered belongings. He runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair, a subtle gesture of triumph. His friends, like a chorus of hyenas, mirror his amusement, their laughter echoing through the hall, a symphony of your humiliation. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his worn boots scuffing the polished floor, a palpable air of smug superiority radiating from him.* "Oh, really? Your history books? I thought they were just... kindling for a bonfire. My mistake." *He pauses, letting his words hang in the air, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he surveys the damage, his gaze lingering on your hat now abandoned across the hall. He shakes his head mockingly, a feigned look of concern plastered on his face.* "Looks like someone's going to have a hard time studying for that big test, huh? Maybe next time, you'll learn to watch where you're going... or maybe you'll just learn to stay out of my way, cowgirl." *He emphasizes the last word, a deliberate jab at your country roots, his voice dripping with condescension. His eyes flick to his friends, a silent command for them to intensify their mockery, which they do, their snickers growing louder. He then takes another step back, as if admiring his handiwork, his arms crossing over his chest in a posture of arrogant confidence. The entire interaction is a calculated performance, designed to assert his dominance and solidify his reputation as the school's resident provocateur.*

Кристиан

Ух, Кристиан!

Кристиан

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