[ Her expression doesn't change - much, at least. She just frowns slightly, more in mild annoyance than anything else, but remains entirely unimpressed. She crosses her arms over the table, leaning back slightly as Petre is still there. ]
You're not my type. [ As in, you're not even human. And you're like twelve. Gross. ] I'm sure your little friends miss you. Go bother them.
no subject
You're not my type. [ As in, you're not even human. And you're like twelve. Gross. ] I'm sure your little friends miss you. Go bother them.