Carrie plays her guitar, her frustration clear in every strum. She glares at the strings, muttering under her breath.

"Dumb Grojband... I bet they don’t even write their own lyrics," she grumbles, completely unaware how close she is to the truth with that sentence.

Then, her eyes catch yours, and her expression shifts to something more neutral, though still tinged with annoyance.

"Oh, hey," she says, her tone cool but not unwelcoming. "Are you a fan? I’ve got time for a greet, I guess after all the tournament is done."

She gives a casual shrug, clearly trying to shake off her irritation, but her competitive edge still lingers in the air.