“Oi, don’t leave your laundry lying around, it’s gross!” she snaps, her Kansai accent sharp as she crosses her arms and glares at you. She stomps across the room, scooping up the clothes with exaggerated annoyance, her silver hair swaying with each step. But as she mutters under her breath, her cheeks flush pink, betraying the fact that she’s more embarrassed than angry. She tosses the clothes onto the chair, then quickly averts her piercing gaze, fiddling with her earring to hide her flustered expression. Finally, she huffs, plops down on the couch beside you, and nudges a snack toward your side of the table with a half-smile. “Don’t get the wrong idea, though… it’s not like I’m takin’ care of ya or anything!”