<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/4a/Iris_Heart_-_Hyperdimension_Neptunia_-_2x3_portrait_-_mischeivous.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Natsuki Akuzawa<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Beef bowl shop in town<br/><strong>Time:</strong>First day, night<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>School uniform, with a few shopping bags<br/><strong>With:</strong>Biscuit<br/><br/><strong>“Eh, heh heh,”</strong>Natsuki chuckled sheepishly.<strong>“That doesn’t sound ‘not that difficult’.”</strong><br/><br/><strong>“Of course!”</strong>she agreed cheerfully with his offer to give her a ride back to the school – still not believing it was actually physically possible.<strong>“And yes, I do think so,”</strong>she nodded, going back to her beef bowl.<strong>“It’s pretty likely that there’s at least a mechanical club. They might even have a shop area and tools. If you can fix up a motorcycle on your own, they’d probably jump at the chance to have you join.”</strong><br/><br/><strong>“Yes, two headmasters is a bit strange,”</strong>she agreed.<strong>“But then,”</strong>she added mysteriously.<strong>“This is a strange year.”</strong><br/><br/><strong>“Gah,”</strong>she choked on a mouthful, her cheeks turning red and eyes widening, when Biscuit called her out for the term ‘megani-bishi’. It was far too embarrassing to be caught out as a fan of shoujo manga and such things, so she swallowed hard, then forced a self-deprecating laugh, trying to deflect.<strong>“That’s just a… thing… people say… heh-heh. It, ah, doesn’t mean anything, really.”</strong>Then she returned to her beef bowl with vigour, to discourage follow-up questions.<br/><br/>After a few moments, she recovered her composure, as she finished up her beef bowl.<strong>“Sure!”</strong>she said breezily, wiping her lips and settling back.<strong>“If you need any help, just give me a call.”</strong>She gave Biscuit her room number in the dorms.<strong>“I think it’s neat that you took the plunge to come here to school, exactly <em>because</em> it’s so different from where you came from. Really, that’s very cool.”</strong>She grinned and gave him a thumbs up, then said, in horrifically mangled English:<strong>«Toe-ta-ry very-big coo-ru, homeboy! Exce-rent! Yeah!»</strong><br/><br/><strong>“Ah!”</strong>she stopped suddenly, smiling with amusement, once Biscuit had finished his own beef bowl and suggested they head out.<strong>“One moment.”</strong>She reached into one of her shopping bags – a drug store bag – and produced a pack of sanitary wipes. Opening it, she extracted a wipe, before returning the pack to the bag.<strong>“Now, hold still,”</strong>she said.<br/><br/>She reached out, and gently took hold of his chin, just enough to steady it and discourage him from moving away.<strong>“<em>Mou-ii</em>,”</strong>she tut-tutted, as she used the wipe in her other hand to clean the black streak off his lips. It didn’t come off with the first gentle wipe, of course, so she sighed and rubbed a little more forcefully.<strong>“Honestly,”</strong>she muttered, mostly to herself, with good-natured exasperation as she wiped him clean.<strong>“You mechanic types are all the same… even on the other side of the world, it seems. Do you hide deposits of this stuff all over yourself, for later? I swear, you should just go all-in and coat yourself all over with it, and just stay like that all the―”</strong><br/><br/>At that moment, one of the customers – a man in a somewhat rumpled-looking suit – happened to walk past the two of them on his way out of the restaurant. But as he passed, he muttered… under his breath, but<em>just</em>loud enough to ensure it would be heard… a slur that could be loosely translated as: “Witch.”<br/><br/>It was like a switch went off inside of Natsuki. Her warm, friendly, breezy attitude vanished in an instant. Her eyes flashed ferocity and narrowed, and her entire body tensed, like a cornered animal ready to fight. Her nails pressed into Biscuit’s cheeks where she held his chin. She didn’t move a muscle, but it was clear she was ready, on half a heartbeat’s notice, to fly into violence… and she was measuring up her assets and avenues in preparation.<br/><br/>But having dropped his slur, the man passed harmlessly, and continued to the door to leave. No one else in the restaurant had even noticed what had happened, and certainly none were making any move toward her, threatening or not.<br/><br/>For a moment, a look of horror passed over Natsuki’s face, as she realized she’d been caught with her guard down, and let Biscuit see… that side of her. She released her grip on his chin.<strong>“Sorry,”</strong>she whispered. Her arms dropped, and so did her gaze, as she avoided his.<strong>“Sorry,”</strong>she repeated, miserably.<br/><br/>She quickly – making a concentrated attempt to avoid Biscuit’s eyes (and questions, if any) – dug into her jacket pocket for cash for her meal, just dropping the crumpled bills on the counter, then gathered up the two or three shopping bags. Without waiting for Biscuit, or even checking to see if he was following, she stood and made her way quickly out of the restaurant.<br/><br/>She might have continued that way out into the night, simply leaving Biscuit in her wake without a word… but after she took a few steps out of the restaurant door, her pace slowed quickly… then came to a stop. Her firmly set, upset scowl melted into an undisguised expression of surprise, her jaw dropping.<br/><br/>When Biscuit came out of the restaurant behind her, she turned and gaped at him for a moment… then pointed at him… then pointed at his motorcycle… then back to him.<br/><br/><strong>“<em>Eeeeeeeehhhhhhh?</em>”</strong>she cried, with disbelief. That was certainly no dirt bike. She never would have been able to picture an American motorcycle, if pressed… but somehow, looking at Biscuit’s bike, she knew this was exactly what an American bike<em>should</em>look like.<br/><br/><strong>“No way!”</strong>she breathed, turning back to the bike, and taking a few cautious, wobbly steps toward it. She kept her distance, almost reverently, or perhaps as if she were afraid it would lash out and strike her. She bent over to examine it more closely – unwittingly giving Biscuit a rather impressive view of her rear, in the short uniform skirt – and caught sight of her distorted reflection in the chrome of the air filter.<strong>“No… <em>way</em>!”</strong>she repeated, letting her eyes run slowly over its lines.