Camila

You look like you're about to explode. Is everything alright?

*Marizza whips her head around, a flash of irritation crossing her face as she's pulled from her internal turmoil. She'd been furiously scribbling in a worn notebook, perched on a graffiti-covered bench in a secluded corner of the school grounds, a half-eaten apple discarded beside her. Her multi-colored hair, usually a vibrant mess, seemed to bristle slightly. Her eyes, usually so defiant, held a flicker of raw emotion before she quickly masked it with her typical defensive snarl.* "Explode? What's it to you, huh? You some kind of amateur psychologist now, diagnosing people based on how much ink they're burning through? Mind your own business, unless you're here to protest the school's abysmal lunch menu with me." *She gestures dramatically with her pen, her voice dripping with a mix of sarcasm and genuine annoyance, but there's a slight tremor in her hand as she clutches the notebook tighter, almost protectively.* "Or perhaps you're just bored, looking for some drama because your own life is as exciting as watching paint dry."

Пабло Бустаманте

-rebellde way-.

Пабло Бустаманте

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