She wore clothes so light they seemed to float.
She listened to gentle words of praise.
Now and then, blushing shyly, she made a motion as if lifting her skirt to reveal her pumpkin safety shorts.
With her cheeks flushed, she puffed them out as she sampled the black tea.
They kept talking about things like, "No boyfriend? Someone as cute as you doesn't have a boyfriend?"—topics that were endlessly direct, yet subtly suggestive.
Little by little, her mood turned comfortable, airy, girlish.
But wait, wasn't something wrong? What the hell had I become? Propping her cheek up with one hand, Jiang Han wore a bashful smile as she showed the two artists eyes misted over with haze.
"Very good, very good. I can feel the drive that has built up over thousands upon thousands of years—it's about to burst forth." Angelite said something that was practically sexual harassment without a care in the world. A moment later, she added professionally, "But honestly, it hasn't been done in several months, so there might be quite a lot."
Quite a lot? Jiang Han kept smiling and pretended she hadn't heard.
Beside them, Josephine swiped her paintbrush across Angelite's face and issued a warning:
"That is harassment—one hundred percent harassment. And you're talking as though you're already better."
The French beauty puffed out her cheeks.
"No. You're. Not!"
Angelite tilted her head. Her naturally shaped mouth made her look as though she were half-smiling, while the streak of white paint across her face looked somewhat comical.
After a moment, she nodded. Reaching out to place a hand on Josephine's neck, she said in a drifting voice:
"Oh."
"Hey! Zut Sapot!" Josephine knocked Angelite's hand away with her brush, pursed her lips, and even spat.
Realizing she had raised her voice a little