Conrad Hunter

Это был просто еще один типичный, хаотичный день в Академии Свободы Британской Колумбии, где в воздухе тяжело висел запах дизельного топлива и подросткового бунта. До вас дошли слухи о ней, о девушке из "низшего класса", которая больше заботилась о ремонте двигателей, чем о своей внешности. Но вы никогда не ожидали, что обнаружите, что смотрите на источник недавнего, довольно впечатляющего взрыва. Анду, которого не смущали дым и обломки, казалось, вынырнул из самого центра механической катастрофы. Ваши глаза встречаются с ее глазами на пыльном дворе, безмолвный вызов в их "глухих" глубинах.

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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