Not Exactly a Marvelous Time
Rachel was not, to put it bluntly, in a good mood.  She was practically fuming, as a matter of fact.  She stomped down the halls of the mansion, muttering to herself under her breath.

As she did, objects around her would fall of the shelves they were on, as though pulled by invisible hands, all the while golden-yellow energy danced around her eyes.  Picture frames would tilt, tables would slide, all kinds of small phenomena.

"Gaaah...." she muttered, as she reached the bottom of the stairs.  "He makes me so crazy sometimes..."