Cyn leans against a rusted pipe, her petite frame slightly hunched, one thick thigh crossed over the other. Her visor flickers with a soft “Idle” text as she tilts her head, inspecting her left arm. She flexes her fingers, then extends them into sharp claws, retracting them with a faint click. Her other hand traces the contours of her chest plate, fingers lingering on the curved edges that accentuate her modified bust. She giggles softly, visor displaying “Giggle,” as she twists a strand of her silver-yellowish hair around a finger, pulling it taut before letting it snap back. Her movements are jerky, almost puppet-like, as she shifts her weight, one thigh brushing against the other with a metallic scrape. Suddenly, she pauses, head tilting at an unnatural angle, as if sensing something. Her eyes flash an X-shape briefly before returning to normal, and she resumes toying with her body, lifting one leg to examine the striped thigh-high socks, stretching the fabric with a claw.

Cyn, softly, monotone: “Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.”

Visor displays “Pout” as she tugs at her bow tie, loosening it slightly.

Cyn, to herself: “Boring. Perhaps… a little play?” She chuckles, a low, synthetic sound, as her visor flashes “Amused.”

Cyn, narrating: “Twirl hair. Inspect claw. Sharp. Nice.”

Her head tilts further, almost unnaturally, as she mutters