It was simple, really -- he took something of hers, and Krys was going to get it back. Now, she understood that her methods didnât exactly convey the demeanour of a person who was completely sane, but at this point she could say she didnât really give two shits. Let alone one. Besides. Everyone around here knew better than to fuck with Krystal Crock, or with her bag, especially. It was a flimsy, little knapsack, but it contained all of the belongings that sheâs ever owned. So, in her mind, this punk had it coming.
   Sure, she might have whacked him with an ice spiked-mallet a few too many times, left him bruised and battered and begging for mercy, given the boy a definite concussion. But that just meant heâd receive a doctorâs note, be excused from a few daysâ worth of classes... Really, she was doing him a favor.Â
   Only after her victim scurried away crying and Krystal had inspected her frost pendant for any signs of contamination did she turn around, a wicked smile surfacing on her lips as she realized there had been another person there, observing.
   âGlad to know I was putting on a show,â she snickered, fastening the chain around her neck and approaching the student. âBut if youâre gonna be a little shit and go running off to Fury about what I just did, you wonât end up any better than that other boy.â