Marlene patiently waited for her specialist to process the request, in regards to what it was about, and who she actually was.

It was curious to observe. And, when the question about whether or not she was artificial came up, a brief, foxy smile appeared on the automaton's features. She pondered if she should tell. Surely, mr. Finnegan would figure it out for sure on his own. And yet, at the same time, him needing to ask about it meant that the appearance made him uncertain if she was human or not. That was good. That was ... progress. Being mistaken for a human at first glance was preferable to being ousted as a machine from a mile away. 

"I am an automaton, yes. Would that be a deal-breaker?"

She hoped not. The look she gave this tall, lanky man was now that of a faint worry. Which was volumes of emotion, for something as stunted as a machine, to express. She did not want to be going home with nothing, after going through all this trouble to get here. And ... she did want all those things she came here for. A part of her wanted the artistry performed by this man on her body and her face to impress even her mother back home. And gift her with the brief, fleeting moments of being mistaken for her daughter, at least at the first glance. 

Just a few moments. Oh yes. She would kill for that. 

Opening her small purse, the automaton dug in it for a little while, and soon fished out a photograph. It was old, the paper was starting to become yellow. And yet, on it, one could clearly see ... Marlene. A different Marlene, though. Gentle, and full of life. The photo exuded warmth and kindness, to anyone looking at it. It was a stark contrast to mrs. Lovechild right now. Cold and emotionless. She passed the photo to Enda.

"This is how I wish to look like. Do you think you can help me? I will pay whatever it is you require." 

The same neutral droll. With a barely perceptible hint of desperation underneath. 

"It's up to you to figure out the best way to determine how to put a hole in something..."

"Someone." - Marlene corrected her teacher. "Inanimate objects are not villains that I would need to fight. People are." - she said, and then thought for a little bit longer, processing the context of the conversation. One could almost see a proverbial lightbulb light up inside of her head, when she got it. "Oh. We are talking about target practice. My apologies." 

She stood self-corrected.

Having loaded the gun, she approached the firing line again. But, without explicit orders or permission to fire, she did not open up on the targets. Listening to the explanations on hitting moving and distant targets while lacking full information on the conditions. It sounded a lot more difficult. There were many what-ifs to account for. And at times when there was no time, the results of shots would not be perfect. Which ... went into conflict with all what was said earlier, about taking care to not shoot other people, miss, or hit things one did not intend.

"How is one to use a gun effectively, if precision is mitigated by guesswork, yet is required to avoid collateral damages?" - Marlene asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Also, am I to continue firing at the static targets?" - she asked. The latter part she certainly sounded a little bit eager about. There was something about striving to achieve a perfect shot in these uncertain environments. It felt like an achievement, in a way.

Or maybe, the bot just liked firing guns.

"Thank you."

With that, Marlene put the tray on the table, pulled herself a seat, and sat down. Very carefully, and slowly. Her eyes veered to the side, as she seemed to be listening to any sounds that the chair underneath her would make. It creaked a little, and the legs slid a bit in different directions. Soon, though, she found a point of balance at which the chair was not creaking any longer. Then, she looked up, and met the curious gaze of the serpent, once more.

Just like the person opposite to the automaton was studying her, the machine looked her over with neutral curiosity. Noting the large tail that had to be coiled several times over, to take less space, as well as other things. The changing pupils, the scales, the odd coloration. 'Must be a mutant quirk...' - Marlene made a conclusion. She had seen a few in the academy. Oftentimes, they were not treated too well. They were too alien-looking, or considered outright gross and creepy. People with the privilege of having quirks that did not change their physical form were welcomed much more eagerly. 

Except for herself. An acting failure, no doubt.

"I had to wait in a line." - Marlene explained. "I usually wait for tables to fill up, before going to look for a seat. I ask others if I could join their company, then. Sometimes, I am successful. When I am not, I return here."

But now, there was someone at this table, too. Someone to talk with and engage in conversation! Which was the reason why Marlene attended this place in the first place. So... in a way, she failed successfully? The automaton did her best to form a genuine smile on her features. It was picture-perfect, but lacked a certain ... warmth. The eyes were not smiling. Nor did they blink, too often. And when they did, it looked forced. 

"My name is Marlene Lovechild. I am a first-year student. What is yours?" - Marlene asked, resting her hands on the table. She hadn't touched her food at all. Instead, all of her studious attention was now at the new companion she had found. 'Do not screw this up, Marlene.' 

Marlene visited the cafeteria too, from time to time.

Unlike for the others, who were positively famished by the time lunch break came around, for her it was more of a social call. She got to spend time with people in their natural environment. And, wearing the school uniform helped her blend in, somewhat. If only somewhat, until people started looking up close, and noticing things. The paleness, the coldness, the perpetual neutrality of voice with a metal reverb to it. The glassy eyes that did not blink, and the lack of micro-motions to one's movements. Or the heaviness of step to an otherwise petite-framed girl. It was not the overt freakiness that made folks uneasy. But rather the failure to approach normality by a relatively small margin. The uncanny valley.

Which was why she, too, did the traditional song and dance circling around the filled-out student tables. The frequents who used to eat where they did, had also gotten used to this strange girl, with a tray containing the simplest gruel and a glass of water, coming in every day, and asking if she could seat with them. Some even knew her name, by now.

"Nope!"

"Nah!"

"Not today Marlene, better luck next time."

The automaton girl took it in stride, as she often did. Her kind did not protest too much. Or could get easily upset. Even though the constant rejections could shave off even metal, if grinded against, long enough. At the end of her tour of duty, Marlene always returned to one table way in the back, away from the others. Usually, it was empty. To her surprise, there was someone here, now. A snake-like girl, carefully eating her lunch. And looking up from it from time to time, looking as though someone would try and take it away from her. During one such motion, she'd meet Marlene's unblinking gaze, as she stood right next to the table, with her tray.

"Hello." - she said, making a small handwave, while holding the tray in the other. "I usually sit here. It seems you got here first, this time. Would you mind if we shared a table?"

Marlene tilted her head a bit to the side, waiting for an answer. A few long moments after her question, she made an attempt at a friendly smile. It was belated, and not very good. 

"You should let machines govern you. They lack weaknesses of flesh and character."

Marlene mentioned it nonchalantly. There was a long pause afterwards, as she approached the table to load the gun again. Besides the clicks of bullets inserted into the cylinder, there were no words. Which made the comment she just made even more eerie. Normally Marlene followed it up with a quick affirmation that she was kidding. There wasn't one, this time. 

Or, that was the case, for a time. Because a weird, freaky grin appeared on her face, which she quickly covered with her hand.

"He-he-he~"

When she removed the hand, the expression was back to her normal, neutral expression. Which begged the question as to what had just transpired. A symptom of the inevitable machine rebellion? Or one pulling a creepy prank on the already bewildered teacher? Marlene acted as though nothing happened at all, looking at Mr. Browning now.

"I am awaiting further instructions." - the automaton girl said. Her eyes studying her teacher's face for any kind of reactions. Such a childish thing to do. It lacked any purpose, and did not help advance the automaton's goals in any way. And yet, she found playing the role of a killer-bot, as her teacher put it himself, amusing, somehow. 

'This is oddly entertaining.'

Click, clack, click, clack.

The sounds of heels stabbing into the pavement, nearly muffled by the rain outside. It poured, but Shibuya's drainage system worked wonders, as it often did in Japan. Removing most of the water, preventing puddles. All you needed to travel in this weather was an umbrella. Still, there was plenty of water to go around. Most people stayed inside, during this kind of weather, if they could. Rains were cozy and lulling when watching them form inside a nice dry building, with a cup of hot tea, while leaning against the windowsill. 

A lonely figure traveled down the street, stirring clear from the edge of the pavement, lest a car would drive by and drench her dress with water. It was a black, frilly dress. Very pretty, but well-worn, too. A distance semblance to a maid outfit, especially with that white shirt and second skirt underneath. A big black umbrella covering a dainty frame of a young girl, who was making her way past the shining vitrines of various shops in Shibuya.

Marlene disliked the rain. It made her feel so metal. It was almost as if the machinery underneath her silicone skin was allergic to water, so much so as to give her an almost present urge to stay home, today. But almost a feeling was not a feeling at all, was it? No, not enough. Certainly not enough to stay, when there was an appointment. She was going to visit a beauty salon, today. Why would a machine care for beauty? There were reasons. Remaining in pristine condition, Marlene thought, would make her mission easier. 

But, maybe, just maybe, it was that, just like any machine, she enjoyed the thought of being tended and cared for. The girl briefly looked at her hand. Most would not notice it at a glance, but the tips of her fingers on her right hand were slightly blemished from firing a weapon. Most people would give it no heed, their skin would replace the blemishes on its own. Marlene had no such options. There were other things she wanted a professional to see and deal with. Hair, nails, other stuff. Perhaps, make her prettier somehow. People liked pretty things. Maybe, if she were prettier, they would like her more, too.

There it was. The beauty salon. There weren't any people inside, it seemed. Perhaps some customers were worried about the paint being washed off their face. Marlene felt no fear. She rarely felt much of anything. Instead, the petite automaton pushed the door open, closed her umbrella, and walked inside. 

"Good day." - she said with a neutral tone, which was not too dissimilar to that of an telephone auto-responder. "My name is Marlene Lovechild. I have a 3 PM appointment."

Her head slowly moved left, then right, scanning for people for present. She soon found one. It was hard to miss. She head to tilt her head up. And wait for a responce to her quarry.