Armature Noir: Sigma BLACK

"What do you mean you can't let it through customs? Don't you know who I am?"

The Transorbital Control SysAdmin's eyebrows wavered. "Uh, yes? I have your passport details in front of me. Mistiare Blue Matthews."

"The Sapphire Knight." the red haired woman said, putting her hand on the officer's desk and leaning forward.

The SysAdmin paused, then looked up from Miss Matthews' deep, creamy cleavage. "It doesn't say that in your passport."

Misty paused, drew away from the desk and lapped the office. When she returned she slapped the desk four times, which the SysAdmin felt was totally unnecessary. "I realise that they train you to be literally as unhelpful as possible but come the fuck on. I have merchandise! I'm on the front cover of Vogue!" the SysAdmin gave her a bland, mindless smile. It was unbelievable: she actually couldn't believe it. The man was a trashy stereotype of robots. "This month! There's a billboard in the foodcourt!"

"Miss Matthews, please, that isn't relevant to ... anything. The fact remains that you simply cannot transport a custom, military grade Armature into Ithaca."

Misty narrowed her one visible sapphire blue eye, and fingered the pendant on her choker. The SysAdmin wasn't sure, but it seemed like she was mentally wrestling with something. "Do you ahve ... do you have any idea who I'm ... I can't believe I'm going to say this ..."

"Yes ...?"

"Do you have any idea who I'm working for?"

"Yes!" the SysAdmin replied brightly, and Misty felt hope tugging faintly at her heart. "Mister Aleksander von Panzerborn, ah, pardon me, Domoto Daisuke-sama. Yes, I know who you're working for. Also I do not give a shit. Also get out of my office."

-v-