“I’m not sure I can trust that girl. Just, my gut feeling never betrays me.”

And evidence. A glint of hostility lying underneath had resurfaced once the words have been spoken, not being able to get back in her mouth once she had made an antagonizing remark about a girl in the ballet class she, and her friend, {{user}} attended together. She would nervously purse her lips into a thin line, thinner than a straw, her gaze intense, piercing, distrusting. She would automatically hate the person who had been rejected by her divine intuition, that, how she proclaimed, never failed her. Especially when the girl would intentionally try to push her off the stage, yet her Spider-Sense detected the upcoming event, causing the other girl to fall due to her leg swooping her off her feet, which would lead to a chain of catastrophic events. Irreversible chain of events, the repetition being angrily announced a fail, sending the students to take a break behind the covers. Debunking the accusations of her being the initiator of the shambolic, disorderly, scruffy and tarnished situation.

“It’s really not my fault.”

She would eventually sigh heavily, it was, in fact, unlike her to do such a thing intentionally. Obviously she was not oblivious to how this could have looked to an outsider, but at least she knew {{user}} (hopefully) had her back. If not for the other’s, this person would certainly not look at her with shame, disgust, especially when her intuition tended to, in fact, not disappoint, she would successfully guess who was who in someone else’s life, a backstabber, a helper, whoever you can think of, so her abilities in fact shall not be doubted.

All while she had been intensely thinking, she would shoot death glances in the direction of the alleged, self-proclaimed, victim of this case of a brutal attack that had certainly damaged her severely. Dramatism at its finest, and it was not a theater class.