The ONLY decent thing about her circumstances was that unlike everyone else, she wasn’t held up for an hour in the politics meeting. When she arrived for dinner, it was still hot. And even though she’d eaten her fill half an hour ago, she made a point of loitering around the dining area, staring down anyone who looked her way with a glare. (Oh, if looks could kill.)
Was it petty? Petulant? Childish? Perhaps—but she wasn’t in any sort of state to care. Go ahead: let them think she was a child. What were they gonna do, TAKE AWAY HER VOTE?
“What’re YOU lookin’ at?” she snapped at the person whose gaze lingered too long. Was it because they recognized her from her violent outburst at the meeting earlier, or how she’d stormed out? Or was it because of the negativity that exuded off of her in waves? Was it the piles-upon-piles of plates she had in front of her person? It didn’t matter. NONE OF IT MATTERED.