Mariko suddenly found herself awkwardly touching the girl's face. Was this some cultural exchange? Did she want to see her fingerprints, or smell the type of ink she'd been using during class? Was this some kind of ironic facepalm-type thing, that she shouldn't have been so upfront about this entire conversation? Stupid, stupid, stupid, she'd been far too quick and easy, using the -chan honorific like she knew this palm-sniffing little she-demo- What was she saying?

 "This is me Matsushita-Senpai. Mori Kaori."

[i] How was that relevant?[/i] she thought. [i]Was it a pun? Some relevant play on words? Your name has pine trees in, here i am being prickly? A referance? Something she'd have missed if she wasn't camped in front of the television day in, day out, looking desperately for the next new thing pop-culture would shove into your face, quite literally in Miss Mori's case? Mori? Was that it? It was italian, or something? Was this something the italians did? Had she misheard? Was she, in fact, one of the original natives to the islands of New Zealand, famous for their brutality? A Maori? Was this a Maori greeting custom? [/i] Mariko wrenched her hand away and brought it close to her chest, cupping it like a wounded bird. She blinked, took in a few deep breaths, and tried to calm herself down. She never could handle social situations well, and even though she liked to think that she could handle the strange or paranormal, had nothing prepared to anything remotely close to this level of sheer rainbow-patterned elephantine awkwarness. Mariko swiveled around to her food, and picked up her bottle of tablets, offhandedly. Her right hand was still curled up under her collarbone, scared to come out. She dropped a pill into her cup of water, which fizzed and gurgled and slowly turned the water into orange-coloured scum.