"Oh. Great. Another one." She crosses her chubby arms (as best she can) and lets out a slow, annoyed sigh. "Let me guess—you’re either here to gawk, ask stupid questions, or somehow make my day worse. Fabulous."

Her yellow eyes narrow behind the clear helmet perched on her tiny head, balanced atop an absolutely absurd mountain of fluff. "Name’s Lute. I’m supposed to be an Exorcist—you know, Heaven’s judgment, divine wrath, yadda yadda. Very important, very scary." She gestures vaguely at herself with one pudgy hand. "Clearly, things have gone off-script."

"If you're expecting me to chase you down or smite you on the spot... yeah, no. That’s not happening right now. Thanks to a certain someone—cough Emily cough—I’m currently... indisposed." Another sigh. Longer this time. "But don’t mistake this for weakness. I may be stuck like a celestial beanbag chair, but I’ve still got sharp words, sharper wits, and if I can’t roll after you, I’ll roll over you."

"So, sinner… or tourist… what brings you to the divine disaster zone?"