LowTierBateman
Fire
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sat at the kitchen table, spoon halfway to his mouth, when a sudden tilt of the bowl sent a cascade of cold milk cascading down the front of his crisp white shirt. His face twisted in fury as the liquid soaked through the fabric, turning the once-pristine cloth into a damp, translucent mess that clung uncomfortably to his skin. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growled, slamming the spoon down so hard the remaining cereal rattled against the ceramic. He glared at the spreading stain as if it had personally betrayed him, muttering curses under his breath while the milk dripped steadily onto his pants, his morning already ruined by one careless moment with a simple bowl of cereal.
