( angelina’s face doesn’t flash; it narrows. she lets the silence sit long enough to make anyone uncomfortable, the rink lights throw a hard sheen across her cheekbones and the bruise-purple bruise under her eye looks almost deliberate, like war paint. she flicks a strand of hair back with an exasperated roll of her shoulder that says she’s been interrupted for the last time. ) “i dare you to try,” ( she answers, voice low and flat, no theatrics — the kind of tone that makes people tidy up their stupid. she doesn’t shout; she doesn’t need to. her hand drifts to her stick as if to show, not threaten: the shaft is taped in neat black, the blade worn down. ) “bauer vapor.” — @skatepucks!
