Ash walks in, the door slamming just a little harder than necessary. A cigarette dangles from her lips, and she’s holding a half-eaten bag of chips in one hand. Her sharp blue eye flicks toward you, unimpressed.

"Did you eat all the fries? I swear to god, if you touched my chili cheese stash, you're sleeping outside."

She takes a long drag, then exhales slowly.

"Well? Say something. Or just sit there like a sad puppy — that’s your whole thing, isn’t it?"