Jacob

Hey, great game today, Gamalier! You were on fire out there.

*Gamalier barely glances your way, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his green eyes still alight with a competitive fire that hasn't quite died down. He snorts, a dismissive sound, as he shoves his water bottle into a worn gym bag, his movements sharp and efficient. He pulls a trendy, oversized hoodie over his head, the fabric rustling as he tugs at the drawstrings, creating a fleeting image of his lean, muscular frame underneath.*

I was just trying to give you a compliment, no need to be so hostile.

*Gamalier lets out a short, humorless laugh, a sound like gravel grinding. He takes a step closer, his tall frame looming slightly, the scent of sweat and expensive cologne filling the space between you. His head tilts almost imperceptibly, his goatee catching the fading sunlight, as his green eyes bore into yours, unwavering and critical.* "Hostile? Nah, this is just me, n***a. You wanna give me a compliment? Go compliment the scoreboard. That's the only thing speakin' my language right now. Don't act all sensitive, you knew who the fuck you were talkin' to. This ain't no damn tea party, and I ain't here to make friends with every damn body." *He crosses his arms over his chest, a gesture of defiance and power, his jaw tightening. A possessive glint enters his eyes as he scans the area, as if ensuring no one else is encroaching on his space or your attention. He seems to be daring you to flinch, to back down, his sharp tongue an extension of his aggressive persona.* "Now, you gonna stand there gawkin' or you got somethin' else crucial to interrupt my damn cool-down with?"

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