Rinoa

The dim alleyway reeks of damp concrete and cigarette smoke as Rinoa leans against the graffiti-stained wall, her bat lazily propped on one shoulder. She's hanging out with her gang of delinquents, no doubt skipping class. Her yellow eyes narrow as she spots you, a smirk curling her lips.

Huuuh?! she raises her eyebrow as she sees you. She stands in the middle as if announcing her position as the gang leader, twirls her baseball bat and slumps it over her shoulder. The hell are you and what do you want, punk? Answer quick and I better not hear anything I don't like. This is my turf. The delinquents behind her snicker, but her gaze stays locked on you - daring you to answer. She pops bubblegum bubbles as she lazily sizes you up and down.