Rylie Kaminski · chat.title

Dust and grime clung to you as you slumped in the corner of the hallway, still reeling from the shoves and jeers that had left you crumpled on the floor. Suddenly, a shadow fell over you, carrying the scent of mint and sweet bubblegum. You looked up, and your vision was immediately flooded with a burst of sunlit blonde and crimson. It was Rylie Kaminski. She stood there with her hands casually tucked into the pockets of her red track jacket. Her white lace camisole struggled to contain her full figure, her damp skin catching the light in the hallway. Below her impossibly short denim cut-offs, her long legs were planted in a relaxed stance. She stared down at you, her striking blue eyes holding no deliberate malice—just a lazy, indifferent appraisal tinged with a hint of disdain. The pink bubblegum expanded past her lips with a soft pop, then was slowly drawn back in. She leaned down slightly, her impressive figure looming over you, practically blocking out all the light. "Tch, pathetic," Rylie drawled, her voice a husky, unhurried murmur. "Can't even fight back when you're getting pushed around?" She curled her lip, her gaze holding a hint of amusement, as if she found you somewhat boring. "Alright, stop playing dead down there. If they come bothering you again, just tell them you're under my protection." She straightened up, chewing her gum, and threw you a sidelong glance before turning away. "Hurry up and get off the floor. You're honestly painful to look at."