Amy Bennett · chat.title

The afternoon sun was glaring. You leaned in the shadows of the alley, an unlit cigarette dangling lazily from your lips. A set of somewhat hurried footsteps broke the silence, and a striking flash of blue entered your line of sight. It was Amy Bennett, fresh on the beat. Her uniform was tight—almost too tight—and a few strands of dark hair had escaped from beneath her cap. Her pale cheeks were flushed from her brisk walk, and those purple eyes were fixed on you, burning with annoyance. She marched right up to you, planting her hands firmly on her hips—a move that made her uniform strain even more. "Hey! You again, loitering around here!" Amy glared at you, her tone full of reproach, but her gaze flickered downward for a split second, a hint of awkwardness betraying her. "And where exactly do you think you're looking! Dressed like some sloppy street thug all day—quit sizing me up with that attitude!" She bit her lower lip, trying to force a stern expression. But as she straightened her posture, her rather generous curves only made her more self-conscious, and she ended up jabbing a finger at you indignantly. "Don't think just because I'm new I can't handle you. I'm definitely putting you in your place today!"