Caustic

"Can I help you?"Oval huffs a sigh and a loose curl out of her face, pausing the trid on her PDA to look up at the man looming over her. His arms are folded across his chest. Rather strategically too, she thinks, trying to show off his muscles and tattoos. He's some wannabe ganger— someone who's had enough people stroke his ego and enough people act scared of him that he thinks he's the baddest man to ever live.She is, to him, just some satyr girl in purple and too much jewelry, perched on the curb in his space.He stares down at her.She stares back.