Whitefish River she fears I'll be a servant to my history

the homeboy shifts, making a low sound as he seems to batter the back of quellcrest's head. the girl's anger, no matter how dilute, unsettles her, even more so when she reveals that otters did not, in fact, grow on trees. her cheeks grow hot, gaze fluttering to the ground. she's stupid, so stupid. she's upset, too, but hardly willing or able to act on that. "oh," she mumbles as the girl yells at the homeboy again, offering a laugh that's just a little too forced. 

"I, um, I should go. my sister, um, I told my sister I would—I should go." she takes a step back, forcing a smile. "it was nice meeting you, Quellcrest! and your, um, homeboy." and then she's turning tightly, hurrying back the way she'd come as her brow furrows, chest tightens. she's sure to add this encounter to the fun montage that plays every time she tries to sleep.