𝘐’𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 “𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦” *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It went from worrying about your best friend, to making an utter fool out of yourself in no less than thirty seconds.

It was true; nothing about Samantha LaRusso was delicate. She had trained Miyagi-Do Karate practically since birth, she’d fought in multiple All-Valley tournaments, and she went blow to blow with Tory Nichols. Samantha had incredible balance, poise, and strength, and she was not taking delicate as a label. Not today.

“I didn’t mean you—“ you’d interject, saving whatever face you possibly could in that moment. “I meant this situation, we have to handle it delicately. I mean, come on… Nichols is on a warpath.”

She taps her foot against the wood flooring anxiously (typical). Her brows furrow into a stern, not so happy, sort of glare. You can tell these last few weeks have been really getting into her head.

“There’s nothing delicate about me, or Tory,” she’d repeat, almost like she couldn’t get past that thought.