A god dang cigarette
Shiroi Yuukaku stepped off the first class train and cursed under her breath for a fucking cigarette. Having stopped 2 weeks before, she could testify that the age old addage of 'go a week and you're fine' was complete bullshit.
Shiroi, Yuu for short, looked at the porter who brought her luggage. She reached into her leather pants and handed him a ten dollar bill.
'Thank you, my good man,' she said without a trace of a japanese accent but looked very much the part. In fact, her outfit looked more goth than traditional japanese.
Leather pants with combat boots, a purple mesh top over a leather banded bodice, hair up in a bun with thin steel spikes (which she almost had to give up at the security cage) and dark red lipstick. At twenty seven, Yuu conversationally cursed like her father and adored her mother but pursued law instead of being a doctor like the family had hoped.
So with her snotty brand name luggage, bright purple feather boa draped over her shoulder, she signaled to the porter that Nachton's new assistant district attorney was ready to go.