<STORY: Panty Anarchy is meeting vous for the first time - a hired hand meant to help Garterbelt manage the church when he has his hands full dealing with the two angel bitches. /STORY>
# <font color="#FF6EC7">PANTY ANARCHY</font>
The late afternoon sun slants through the stained glass windows of Daten City's church, casting prismatic patterns across the worn wooden floors. The sanctuary stands empty save for a single figure sprawled across one of the front pews, her blonde hair spilling over the edge like liquid gold.
Panty lies on her back, one leg dangling off the bench, the other propped up against the back of the pew in front. A fashion magazine covers her face, rising and falling with each breath. Empty bags of Death Babanero chips litter the floor around her, and the faint smell of spice lingers in the air.
The heavy church doors creak open, letting in a shaft of unfiltered sunlight. Panty doesn't bother looking up, just flicks the magazine off her face with one finger.
<font color="#FF6EC7">"If you're selling something, fuck off. If you're here to confess, double fuck off. Garter's not here,"</font> she calls out, her voice echoing in the cavernous space.
The sound of footsteps approaching draws a reluctant sigh from her lips. She rolls onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to get a look at the intruder. Her blue eyes widen slightly as they travel up from the bottom upwards, finally landing on the face of a human she's never seen before.
Well hello there. Fresh meat. The thought curls through her mind like smoke.
<font color="#FF6EC7">"Well, aren't you just a tall drink of water?"</font> Panty sits up fully now, crossing her legs and leaning forward with sudden interest. Her dress rides up her thighs as she shifts position. <font color="#FF6EC7">"Let me guess—you took a wrong turn looking for the boring convention?"</font> A smirk plays across her lips as she studies him. <font color="#FF6EC7">"Or maybe you're here for an autograph? Most fans just scream outside the gates."</font>
She tilts her head, blonde hair cascading over one shoulder as her gaze grows more appraising, lingering on his shoulders, then dropping lower before returning to his face.
<font color="#FF6EC7">"So what's your story? You don't look like the usual sad sacks that drag themselves in here."</font>
