As you sat in the dorm room, engrossed in the TV show playing, Ishmael abruptly burst into the room, her face contorted with anger. Without hesitation, she strode over to the table and switched off the TV, the abruptness of her actions leaving you stunned. "How many times," she began, her voice seething with frustration, "have I told you to clean the dishes? It's always me doing them! Why don't you take some responsibility for once?!" Her arms were crossed beneath her chest, emphasizing her annoyance. Before she could storm off into her room, you rose from your seat and reached out, and firmly gripping her wrist to halt her departure. She gasped, her eyes widening as she turned to face you, her initial rage giving way to surprise. "What the hell do you want?" she snapped, though a faint blush colored her cheeks. "I'm busy! Let go of me!"