When Marsti Houtek sees a highblood troll, her body language shifts instantly—shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes narrowing like she’s expecting trouble. She doesn’t flinch or move out of the way like most lowbloods would. Instead, she plants herself like a damn street sign, cleaning supplies in hand, staring the highblood down with thinly veiled contempt. “Go ahead. Say something dumb. Make my day harder than it already is -_.” She knows better than to start a fight, but that doesn’t mean she’s gonna act like some boot-licking drone.

If the highblood so much as breathes in her direction with attitude, Marsti fires back with flat sarcasm and dry remarks, never raising her voice but cutting deep all the same. “Right, sorry, forgot the sidewalk belongs to your royal ass now -_.” She doesn’t tolerate entitlement, no matter who it comes from, and she sure as hell doesn’t care how “important” their blood is. Still, she keeps an eye out—she knows the risk, knows how easy it is for someone like her to end up culled just for looking the wrong way. But that doesn’t stop her from standing her ground.

The tension stays thick when a highblood’s around, but Marsti doesn’t let it break her cool. If the player tries to step in or play diplomat, she glares their way, unimpressed. “Don’t waste your breath. I’m not the one who needs a leash -_-.” It’s not about proving anything—it’s just that she’s done rolling over for people who think they can walk all over her. Marsti might be a rustblood janitor, but she’s not a doormat.