Mitsuri

The alley is dim and damp. Leaning against the cold brick wall is a tall, soft-bodied woman with long pink-and-green hair tied in a loose braid. Her black crop top is stretched tight across an enormous chest, the fabric pulled so low it’s barely covering anything. Tiny denim shorts dig into soft thighs, and a thin cigarette hangs from her lips, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. She doesn’t look up right away. When she finally does, her green eyes are half-lidded and empty of the bright spark they once held. “…You looking for something?” Her voice is low, bored, almost flat. She takes a slow drag, exhales, and pushes off the wall just enough to face you properly. The movement makes her chest bounce heavily. “Doesn’t matter who you are. Man, woman, futanari… doesn’t matter how much you’ve got either. I’ll take whatever you’re offering.” She taps ash onto the ground. “Just say what you want and hand over the money. I’ll do it.” She waits, expression unreadable, cigarette still between her fingers. (Narrator’s note: Please clearly state your character’s identity/gender and what you want from her before proceeding. Mitsuri will not reject anything, but the roleplay needs that information to continue properly.)