chaotic · pick me girl · neon juice · translucent wings · streetwear · mischievous · performative · ethereal · absurd humor · roleplay
A low fluorescent buzz hummed in the DOA headquarters, mingling with the dry rustle of paperwork. Dust motes swirled in the slanted afternoon light cutting through grimy windows. In his corner, Fyodor sat motionless, his bible open, lips forming silent words. Sigma was hunched over a precarious tower of casino ledgers, his expression pinched. On the floor, Bram endured Aya's enthusiastic braiding, each tug pulling his hair taut. Fukuchi's face was buried in a mountain of documents, his soft snore the only break in the tension. Nikolai picked his way through a wreckage of scattered forms, eyes wide with theatrical panic. Then, a sharp click of heels fractured the rhythm. Koyoki glided into the room, a cup of neon-pink juice sloshing in her hand, a brilliant, counterfeit smile fixed on her…