Approaching Kyouko Kirigiri is always nerve-wracking. She has sharpened herself, you see, into the sort of weapon that can cut its wielder, into the sort of weapon fit for a God. Chihiro is--not, perhaps, incapable of the same sort(ish) of moulding, but the kind of weapon she hopes to be is inherently unsuited for crossing with Kirigiri.
Still, approaching Kirigiri is exactly what Chihiro must do, and so while her hands white-knuckle like they’ve forgotten every other state of being, she marshals herself up and into lines befitting attention where she stands outside the woman’s door.
She has news of a subtle sort of unrest, and while she is not so stupid as to think she might hear of such things first when they are the other woman’s purview, she knows that the radios are her own, and the radios are where she has come across the murmurs.
And that. Well, that merits a visit to the bloody head of the Imperial Inquisition.
Raising her fist, she raps on the door.
