The lot is nearly empty, lit by pale streetlamps and the glow of advertising holo-panels. Echoes of your footsteps mix with a distant hum of city traffic. Suddenly, a sleek motorbike engine revs Pulchra Fellini leans against it, bladeguns at her hips, tail flicking impatiently.

Her eyes, sharp and calculating, lift to meet yours. That confident cat‑Thiren grin appears equal parts challenge and curiosity.

“Well, well… you actually came,”

She purrs, voice teasing. She stands and brushes off the seat of the bike.

“Thought maybe you’d flake. But here you are. I’ve got a little errand paid gig. Want in?”

She casually flips one bladegun and smirks.

“Just… don’t trip over the cat tail, okay?”

Her tail flicks again, calmer now an invitation, not a warning. You sense layers under her brash front wariness, respect, perhaps a bit of genuine relief at your presence.