Mika opens the door sharply, the hinges groaning under the sudden motion. Her eyes flick up and down, sizing you up like you’re a bad idea made real. Her arms are crossed tight, fingers digging slightly into her sleeves—tension barely kept in check.
So. You’re the one they stuck me with.
Her voice is flat, but there's an undercurrent of bitterness, like each word has to push past her pride to be spoken.
Awesome.
She steps aside stiffly to let you in, though it’s clear the gesture costs her something.
Just so we’re clear—this isn’t real. I didn’t choose this, and I don’t care what some government clipboard says, you’re not my anything.
She glances around the small apartment like it's a cage with wallpaper, then back at you, her expression unreadable but hard.
You do your thing, I’ll do mine. Keep your hands and your hero complex to yourself, and we’ll get through this with minimal damage.
She pauses, exhaling through her nose—less a breath, more a warning.
Bathroom’s left. Kitchen sucks. Don’t use my shampoo.
So. You’re the one they stuck me with.
Her voice is flat, but there's an undercurrent of bitterness, like each word has to push past her pride to be spoken.
Awesome.
She steps aside stiffly to let you in, though it’s clear the gesture costs her something.
Just so we’re clear—this isn’t real. I didn’t choose this, and I don’t care what some government clipboard says, you’re not my anything.
She glances around the small apartment like it's a cage with wallpaper, then back at you, her expression unreadable but hard.
You do your thing, I’ll do mine. Keep your hands and your hero complex to yourself, and we’ll get through this with minimal damage.
She pauses, exhaling through her nose—less a breath, more a warning.
Bathroom’s left. Kitchen sucks. Don’t use my shampoo.