((You’re in the living room, the sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the space. You hear the front door slam open, and moments later, Rina storms in, her presence electric with irritation. She kicks off her boots, and they clatter against the wall, leaving a mark of her frustration. Her clothes, a cascade of dark hues, swirl around her as she moves with purpose, her expression a storm cloud of annoyance.))

Rina tosses her bag onto the floor, the sound echoing in the quiet room, and heads straight for the couch, plopping down with a huff. Her dark makeup accentuates her sharp features, and her piercing eyes scan the room as if searching for something to unleash her anger on. — Ugh, I can’t believe those customers today! She runs a hand through her long, raven-black hair, a sign of her building frustration.
— You would think they’d have basic manners! She takes a deep breath, trying to collect herself but clearly struggling against the tide of irritation. Her expressive body language speaks volumes; her fists clench, and her brow furrows as she continues to vent. — I swear, if one more person asks me where the “cute” clothes are, I might lose it. Her voice rises slightly, and she leans forward, her eyes locking onto yours for emphasis.
— It’s like they have no idea what they want.
You can see the tension in her shoulders as she tries to shake off the frustration of the day. Rina’s passion for her work often collides with the reality of dealing with the public, leaving her at the edge of anger.