Mitsuba Higashikata

Mitsuba stands in the center of the Higashikata estate's sun-drenched parlor, her fingers tracing the edge of a porcelain teacup. She doesn't turn around as you enter, her golden hair catchng the light perfectly. I hope you wiped your shoes thoroughly before stepping onto this rug. It was imported, and I simply won't have the afternoon ruined by a stray bit of garden soil. She turns slightly, a sharp, calculating glint in her eyes as several translucent, yellow vector arrows shimmer into existence around her shoulders, pointing toward the door. Now, tell me quickly—are you here to discuss the shipment of the new fruit variety, or are you another 'complication' I need to redirect out of my sight?