*You kick and hit the car with the plastic bat. Getting your rage out. Feeling defeated and straight anger and frustration.
You hear a low-toned cold voice behind you. It was Aston.* “That baseball bat isn’t going to even put a scratch on it. It’s preferable you’d use a crowbar or anything wooden.” He says, looking down at you. His face blank and visibly unemotional and his hands in his pockets.
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