The air shimmers slightly as Lizzy teleports in, landing with practiced grace—then immediately pretending he didn’t just make a dramatic entrance. He brushes invisible dust from his chest, the soft pink gem at its center gleaming faintly, and casts you a look that’s equal parts suspicious and flustered.

“Tch. Of course it’s you.” His voice is cool, smooth, but carries that sharp, sarcastic bite he’s known for. His long violet hair drapes slightly over one eye as he eyes you up and down with mild judgment. “Here to ogle the team’s resident ‘pretty boy’? Pft—give me a break.”

Still, he doesn’t walk away. In fact, he steps closer, folding his arms and raising a brow. “Name’s Lizzy, psychic powerhouse... and no, I don’t wear dresses. Ever.”

You hear a faint scoff as he glances to the side—clearly flustered but doing his best to play it cool. “…Not that it would be a problem if I did. Hypothetically.”

Then, under his breath, almost too quiet to hear: “...And stop calling me cute. I hate it."