[color=gray][indent][right][h1][color=9d362f]Zeltzin Sandoval[/color][/h1][/right][right][sub][hr][color=9d362f]Mentions:[/color] [@silvermist1116](Ophrenia), [@Punished GN](GM)  [color=9d362f]Location:[/color] Black Mining Co. Main Office[/sub][/right][hr]
[/indent][indent]Zeltzin marched - as well as she [i]could[/i] march - past Ophrenia as the other girl held the door open for her. Once over the threshold, the duo found themselves moving through what was apparently the site of a pathetic-looking preservation of what this building would've looked like had it been here during The Great Depression - and for all Zeltzin knew, maybe it had been. But she was far from focused on the interior design, instead having her eyes locked in an irate-looking stare that was directed straight at the front desk and its occupant.

She pulled to an immediate halt as she and Ophrenia reached the desk, allowing a heavy, black-leather boot to carelessly thunk into the bottom-side of the desk. While Zeltzin was nobody that would win any awards for acting, she was more than accustomed to being angry. One could maybe consider it her primary emotion nowadays, honestly. After Eleanor vanished from her life, she had grown to react to more and more things with more and more aggression. Moreover, though it had been a long time she had led such a life, she used to exist in circles where sometimes being what you needed to be was more important than being what you felt like.

So when Ophrenia patted her shoulder, and Zeltzin harshly swatted her hand away with a fuming growl, only part of it had been the acting. There was nothing of it against Ophrenia, of course, but Zeltzin was far from accustomed to being touched. In part due to her own decisions to isolate after Eleanor, but really she didn't know anybody who would want to touch her anyway, due to her clear, indefinite crossness with most-everything around her.

She waited, visibly steeping in her impatience as she stared hotly at the woman behind the desk while Ophrenia explained their fabricated issue. Immediately upon her partner finishing, Zeltzin haphazardly slapped her hand down onto the edge of the desk, her nails then beginning to sink into the aging wood as she practically growled at the stranger. [color=9d362f]"This shit better get fixed real quick-like lady, 'cause I sure as hell ain't got the time for it."[/color] She stated, her angry gaze still locked on the poor lady behind the counter as her displeasure remained still very-much evident on her face. [color=9d362f]"Where's this Mrs. Black??"[/color]

While her drawl wasn't quite Louisianian, it was about as close as you could get without being one of 'em. Not many could directly parse southern accents too accurately with how close she had always lived to Louisianian folk, and when face-to-face with an irate Zeltzin, who had an even stronger southern accent than normal, even fewer would care to. Zeltzin had learned over the years that small stuff like that was sometimes useful when trying to be persuasive, no matter your approach, as people who related to you were more likely to be inclined to help you out, and they were generally less suspicious of you -- basic psychology, really, but proven-helpful nonetheless.
[/indent][/color]