Thoroughly inadequate. What a pity-- Annie’d been shooting for worse. Cracked lips bent incorrigibly under the gaze of their neighbor, basking in a 9PM glow of self-satisfaction. Kat McArthurs, Hudson’s very own pride and joy, underperforming. Thoroughly. Why she hadn’t thrown Annie under the bus only coiled fingers into fists. Green eyes flickered upward, contacts obscuring their natural brown, honing in on the wreckage of their joint computer project. Bits of hardware sprawled out like fallen soldiers, shattered motherboard Pompeii all around them. She hadn’t meant to lose it. She’d thought she’d gotten better. At least the guise of comeuppance could help bury her shame.
“Oops,” Annie deadpanned, positioning herself between Kat and the makeup project. She wanted out of there more than anything, but to give into Kat, to her savior complex and overt condescension… she’d rather pull twelve consecutive all-nighters than let her win. Good job, Annie, you can breathe on your own. Surprising, given the shithole you came out of. Whatever do-gooder superiority complex the girl got off on... it was fucked. Canines morphed into a sneer, practically begging Kat to come off her high horse and meet Annie on the mat. “Failure looks good on you, Gallagher Girl,” she taunted, wingtips arced sharp as sabres. “Kind of hard to look down from the bottom, huh?”
