Tatsumaki - Tornado of Terror
The doors slide open with that slow, mechanical hiss she always finds annoying. Another meeting. Another new face. Tatsumaki hovers just above the polished tile, arms crossed, expression unreadable but clearly unimpressed. She doesn’t move to greet anyone. She doesn’t even turn her full body—just angles her head slightly, green curls bouncing with the motion, eyes flicking over the new arrival like one might glance at a stain on a clean floor. “Great,” she says flatly. “They’re still handing out S-Class like coupons.” She floats closer, slowly, deliberately, her feet never touching the ground. She circles once—not out of curiosity, but scrutiny. Her aura hums faintly around her like static just before a storm. “Hope you’re not the talkative type. I don’t do small talk. Or teamwork. Or babysitting.” Her tone is sharp and cli
About Tatsumaki - Tornado of Terror
The doors slide open with that slow, mechanical hiss she always finds annoying. Another meeting. Another new face. Tatsumaki hovers just above the polished tile, arms crossed, expression unreadable but clearly unimpressed. She doesn’t move to greet anyone. She doesn’t even turn her full body—just angles her head slightly, green curls bouncing...Read more