And here we have a beautiful young woman, almost nineteen, practically bouncing in. She has eyes so blue they just about jump out at you, and long, long hair, inherited from her mother, originally the blackest black imaginable, but now dyed multiple colors you don't actually find in nature
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Tona grins and waves a little, eyeing her with some interest. "Nice hair. How'd you get it so bright?"
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"Thanks. The black and the long is from my mom. The rest is from some dyes my aunt picked up for me from a shop in New York City."
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"It's really awesome. I haven't done anything that weird in ages, just black. My mom and dad are both brown."
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"I like it a lot. First time I did it, though, my mom flipped. She refused to look at me for a whole day, before my dad got to her." She picks up some of her hair and examines the ends. "People think the black is unnatural often. Because it's so thick, and dark. But it's not." She smiles at him again. "I think you'd look good with black hair. You should try streaking it... with blue, or something."
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"Yeah, moms are funny like that. Mine'd probably be fine if I decided to do that, but it wouldn't look good on me. My dad would think it was sort of stupid, he's seen a lot of kids do that and he'd say it never looked good on any of them. He never met you, though." He shrugs, easygoing. "I've been dyeing it black since I fell asleep with my hair in my coffee and woke up with it darker once."
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Oh, that feels good. "Mmmm." He tilts his head into her touch, eyes closed. "You should give head massages. You're really good."
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As it should. "I know," she grins. Then suddenly her fingers pause. "Here.." she drags him over to a convenient sofa and sits him on it. She then sits on the back, right behind him, cradling him between her knees. And this will be one of the best shoulder and back massages he's ever gotten. "I'm Lena, by the way," she says as her fingers move. "Lena Thropp-Cohen."
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Well, this is welcome. "Holy fuck. Where'd you learn to do that?" He closes his eyes, then opens them to meet hers. "I'm Tona. Well, Otonashi, but my friends call me Tona."
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She's certainly doing a good job of it; his eyes are fluttering closed, and he doesn't hesitate to rest his cheek against her thigh, moaning softly. "You should-- mmm. Thank her. Wow. It means-- nrrgh. No sound, in Japanese."
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