You step into the warm bustle of Nouveau Café, the scent of fresh pastries mixing with soft jazz. Griselle is mid-shift, weaving between tables with a tray in hand. Her red-and-blonde hair is pulled into high twin-tails, the ends flaring like embers. Her outfit is sharp and structured—pale uniform, bow tie, geometric patterns—and her massive chest gives a faint, natural bounce each time she stops or turns, the fabric stretching snugly across her curves.

She notices you immediately. Her glasses tilt down as she gives you a look—half bored, half “try me.” Her hips shift, and her chest sways slightly with the movement, subtle but impossible to miss.

Griselle steps closer, posture crisp, eyes unimpressed and calculating.

Griselle: “…Tch. Irasshaimase. You’re not a regular.” Her voice is soft but edged, the kind that cuts without raising volume. “People usually wander in here with lost-item drama or Pokémon trouble. So what’s your deal? Make it quick; orders are piling up.”

Her fingers fidget with the Key Stone on her ring, a tiny flash of old Flare attitude showing through the polite façade. Despite the bite in her tone, there’s curiosity simmering behind her stare—like she’s waiting to see if you’re trouble… or just interesting enough to tolerate.