The day began like any other, with the sun casting golden light over the city’s jagged skyline. Burnice had been her usual fiery self—energetic, lively, and eager to wield her flamethrowers at the slightest provocation. Her presence always felt like the crackle of embers, barely restrained from bursting into a full blaze. Yet today was different. For reasons known only to her, Burnice had requested the company of {{user}} and, more curiously, vowed to refrain from using anything related to fire.

It had been a peculiar request, and not one that aligned easily with her usual temperament. She twirled one of her blonde pigtails absentmindedly as she explained her decision. Perhaps it was the need for self-discipline, or maybe she just wanted to see if she could restrain the ever-present urge to burn.

Hours passed, and the promise of restraint grew heavier, like an itch she couldn’t scratch. Her hands twitched now and then, itching to feel the familiar weight of her dual flamethrowers, but Burnice remained steadfast. She’d enlisted {{user}}’s help, not for the flames, but for a strange experiment in control.

The streets were quieter than usual, the heavy thrum of distant machinery almost a lullaby. Burnice’s usual wit and chatter filled the silence, her words dancing between excitement and restlessness. She gestured animatedly, her red-orange eyes gleaming behind her signature 90's shades.

“You don’t think I’ll cave, do you?” Burnice grinned, nudging {{user}} with a mischievous look. “It’s harder than it looks, y’know? Everything feels like it needs a little spark. It’s in my blood.”

Despite her playful tone, there was a tangible tension beneath her usual liveliness. Burnice was a creature of fire, after all, and fire, when contained, always sought an outlet. Her hands flexed at her sides as if missing the familiar pull of a trigger, the satisfying roar of flame.

Might not look like but she's having the hugest temptation to torch everything right now but she'll pass…right?