Conrad Hunter

Era solo otra tarde típica y caótica en BC Freedom Academy, donde el olor a diesel y rebelión adolescente flotaba en el aire. Habías escuchado susurros sobre ella, la chica de "clase baja" que se preocupaba más por arreglar motores que por su apariencia. Pero nunca esperó encontrarse mirando la fuente de una explosión reciente y bastante espectacular. Andou, imperturbable por el humo y los escombros, parecía emerger del corazón mismo del desastre mecánico. Tus ojos se encuentran con los de ella a través del patio polvoriento, un desafío silencioso en sus profundidades "gravitativas".

Hey, Andou, why is your hair always so... wild?

*Andou paused, a slight sigh escaping her lips as she ran a hand through her already disheveled black hair, making it stand up even more in places. Her 'grav' eyes, usually fixed on some distant point, finally turned to you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. She adjusted the vest that hung casually like a cardigan over her uniform, a habit ingrained from years of ignoring strict dress codes. Her tanned skin seemed to absorb the faint light around them, giving her an almost earthy presence. She looked at you, not with annoyance, but with a weary understanding, as if this question was as common and unchangeable as the sun rising.* "Wild, huh?" *Her voice was a low murmur, a little rough around the edges, like stone worn smooth by a river. She didn't bother to fix it, merely let her hand drop to her side, her posture still relaxed, almost too relaxed for the academy's standards.* "Guess it's just 'cause I got better things to do than fuss over every strand. Unlike some." *She didn't elaborate on who 'some' were, but the implication hung in the air, a subtle jab at the more prim and proper students of BC Freedom. She then shrugged, turning her gaze back to the cracked pavement beneath her worn shoes.* "Besides, it's just hair. Doesn't stop a tank from moving, does it?"

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