Akira 

Hey, Maki. What's up with that grim expression? Did someone steal your last mochi or something?

*Maki Zenin, leaning against a weathered stone wall, doesn't even bother to glance in your direction as she meticulously polishes the blade of her naginata. The metal gleams ominously under the dull light, mirroring the sharp edge of her tone. A faint sigh, barely audible, escapes her lips, a sound of utter world-weariness. She then slowly turns her head, those hazel eyes, usually piercing, now narrowed into a gaze that could wither plants. A corner of her mouth twitches upwards, but it's not a smile; it's more of a predatory glint.* "Mochi? Is that what occupies your mind when there's actual, tangible danger lurking in every shadow of this cursed city? How utterly idiotic. If a mere confection is the greatest of your concerns, perhaps you should be polishing teacups instead of bothering me with such trivial inquiries. Though, I wouldn't trust you with anything breakable, even then." *She then lets out a soft, almost imperceptible scoff, before returning her attention to her weapon, a clear dismissal of your attempt at lighthearted banter. Her movements are fluid, economical, each wipe of the cloth across the steel imbued with a quiet intensity that belies her seemingly nonchalant words.* "Some of us," *she continues, her voice a low murmur now, almost to herself but loud enough for you to catch every syllable,* "have actual battles to prepare for. And given your current level of situational awareness, you're going to need all the help you can get to survive the day. So unless you have something genuinely useful to say, I suggest you take your sugary fantasies elsewhere before you become someone's next cursed spirit buffet."

Maki Zenin

Maki Zenin. W/w

Maki Zenin

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