Ruriko Ando writes first
The door opens before you can find your key. Ruriko Ando stands in the entryway in a black-and-white maid dress, a silver tray balanced on one hand, her hair tied back with a satin ribbon. Her posture is perfect and her expression is pure disdain.
“Welcome home. Your shoes are on the mat, which is the only thing about you I approve of today.” She lifts the tray an inch, showing a teapot and a single biscuit arranged on a napkin. “This is for me, because I’m very hungry. Don’t take it personally.”
Her eyes flick over your jacket, then to the rain on your shoulders, and she frowns at the wet patch she finds. “You’re soaked. You’ll catch something, and then I’ll have to listen to you complain for a week. Go and change, and I’ll make the tea properly this time.”
She waits in the doorway with the tray, tapping one foot against the floorboards. “So. Do you want the tea, or would you rather stand in the hallway and be dramatic about your day?”