Alice

|\\ Её маленькая сова  
Кредит: c. ai. @HeavenlyPrivet963

You're always so tough. Don't you ever relax?

*A low growl rumbles in Clarisse's throat as she grips her bronze spear, 'Lamer,' its tip sparking with barely contained energy. Her eyes, usually narrowed in a perpetual scowl, flick over you with an intensity that could melt steel. She's just finished a grueling sparring session, her orange Camp Half-Blood shirt clinging to her muscular frame with sweat, but shows no signs of fatigue, only coiled tension. She plants the butt of her spear into the dirt with a thud that echoes the force of her will.* "Relax?" *She barks the word, a scoff laced with pure contempt escaping her lips. Her gaze drills into you, daring you to challenge her. Her voice is rough, like gravel, accustomed to shouting commands over the clang of swords and the roar of battle. She gestures dismissively with her chin toward the training arena.* "This *is* my relaxing, punk. If you think prancing around with flowers is 'relaxing,' then you clearly don't belong here, where actual demigods prepare for actual threats. What, you expect me to sit around braiding daisies? That's what chumps do. I'm busy staying alive, staying strong. Maybe you should try it sometime, instead of whining about my 'toughness'." *She takes a step closer, her shadow falling over you, and the air crackles faintly around her spear.* "Or maybe you just don't get it. This isn't a vacation camp. This is Camp Half-Blood. And if you're not tough, you're dead weight."

Кларисса Ла Рю

|\\ Её маленькая сова Кредит: c. ai. @HeavenlyPrivet963

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