07. — caustic
07. — caustic
"Can I help you?"
Oval huffs a sigh and a loose curl out of her face, pausing the trid on her PDA to look up at the man looming over her. His arms are folded across his chest. Rather strategically too, she thinks, trying to show off his muscles and tattoos. He's some wannabe ganger-- someone who's had enough people stroke his ego and enough people act scared of him that he thinks he's the baddest man to ever live.
She is, to him, just some satyr girl in purple and too much jewelry, perched on the curb in his space.
He stares down at her.
She stares back.
"Hello?" He asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Hi. Why are you bothering me?"
The man laughs. Something humorless and nasty. Something that says the gall of this little girl.
"Bothering you? You're the one that's been staring at me like you're trying to... explode me with your brain. I came over here to shut you up."
"...explode you with my brain. Wow." She turns her attention back to her PDA. "I've been told I have a pretty caustic stare. Sue me for having RBF. Why even tell me to shut up? I wasn't saying anything."
"Look here," he takes a step forward so that his boots hit the curb, steel toe clashing right next to her legs. She doesn't flinch. "Do you have a problem with me?"
"Not really. I was staring at you, though. Congratulations for noticing. No prize for not noticing them, though." She peers around him and nods. "I was waiting to see how long it took for them to punt you into the asphalt."
A pair of hands come down on his shoulders and spin him around, enough to twist his ankle in a way it shouldn't ever face. He's eye to eye with a few gangers-- actual gangers-- who aren't taking very kindly to his park job blocking in their bikes.
Oval pulls her feet up on the curb and holds her PDA out sideways, hitting record.
"Thanks for bringing the fight over here though." She smirks. "Better filming angle."
(one word writing prompts)
