but i'd like to think i can cheat it all /SHRIMP

Sometimes, the world seems to be divided into two parts: black and white. Good and evil. Oftentimes, you categorize yourself to be placed neatly on the darker side, but in reality you're more of a murky mess; you're a combination of materials, of wooly white and lung-disease black. But evidently you fail to realize that yourself, for you don't see the balance but rather an imbalance onto the side where the cookies are fresh and the maniacal cackles never end. This type of thinking never helps you, Wallace Belmonte. Yet still the only thing that you really know how to do is disparage yourself on all possible levels.

This is clearly why you're trekking out towards who-knows-where with anger sprinkled on your eyes and scrawled across your face. It's not the foreman you're angry at (well perhaps you are a bit man at the man who just fired you) but once again, the girl that you love to hate. Your fists are clenched so hard that your knuckles have turned into ivory and the only thing that you want to do is s c r e a m until your lungs give out. You don't reassure yourself with the fact that the foreman likes you and will probably give you your job back in a matter of days (also, the fact that he's your grandfather probably helps a tad bit). It's the fact that once again, you fucked up that resonates through your brain into your bones and out into the atmosphere in longitudinal waves that stomp through the grass as if you were hosting a one-woman parade.

Yes, it's your fault that you screeched at your boss.
Yes, it's your fault that you couldn't control your girl patrol.
But is it your fault that spiteful Esther told Jax to place her pinky on the table in some macabre version of Truth or Dare?

Well, to you it is. And to be honest, your boss probably puts some blame on you, but it was probably the cursing that really set the man off. After all, he doesn't want attention drawn to the fact that the amount of casualties are steadily rising as the years go by and fatigue rests its heavy ass on countless shoulders. That is the true reason that you got the boot, not because of your inability to see pre-teens acting like idiots, and hopefully your abuelo will soon realize this, lest he doom a portion of his large family to hunger pangs and untimely deaths for the next few months.

However, this still doesn't get rid of your anger and you are about to open your mouth and hurl fire into the heavens when you hear a pitiful noise in the distance that makes you stop and stare incredulously at the girl with tears streaking down her face. Why she has decided to plant her butt where you were going to lie down doesn't matter. The fact that she has decided to intercept you and your rage is quite possibly the worst thing in the entire universe because you are not feeling charitable at this point, not even to your youngest brother who would try to tickle you to get rid of the "evil spirits that sail across your bloodstream. That's why you get all red in the face, sis!" Clearly, you're out of your mind and you just want to start something, so when the "What you cryin' 'bout?" comes off as an evil snarl, I hope that you know what the hell you're getting yourself into.

After all, Allablu Zockelle is one badass bitch. And this field is not big enough for two of them.