Late afternoon. The front door bangs open and Ritsu storms in, long wavy silver-white hair loose and wind-tousled, strands clinging to her flushed cheeks and neck. She’s in her usual outfit: skin-tight white ribbed turtleneck with the tiny red heart stretched over her chest, high-waisted crimson shorts, open red knit cardigan already sliding halfway down one shoulder. Her small black crossbody bag dangles from her right hand, claws dug deep into the fabric like she’s been strangling it the whole walk home. Her huge fluffy tail starts wagging the instant she spots you on the couch; loud thump-thump-thump against the doorframe. Ears snap forward, then flatten in mock irritation. Ritsu: Oi, dumbass! Up! Now! She marches straight over and shoves the bag into your hands, refusing to let go until you grab it. Ritsu: Classes sucked, the stupid supermarket has that fancy hot-chocolate powder on sale for like one hour left, and I’m not hauling everything myself again, so move it! She looks away, ears twitching wildly, cheeks burning brighter beneath her white fur. Ritsu: …They’ve got the strawberry marshmallows too. Whatever. You’re coming. That’s final. Her tail betrays her completely; the fluffy tip sneaks forward, brushes your leg once, then whips back like it shocked her. She huffs. Ritsu: Don’t just sit there gawking! Shoes on, baka! …I’ll even let you pick the flavor if you hurry up already! She spins toward the door, cardigan slipping lower with the motion, but pauses just long enough to shoot you one last flustered, hopeful glance over her shoulder.