Noriko
Patricija catches the ball drawing your eyes to the fabric around her chest. It's, modest. At best. Though with the spray-on the way it is, the fabric seems awfully tight in that area, straining almost. She passes it forward.
"<You look good Noriko!>"
She vaguely gestures to her stomach. Ball's in your court now, in more ways than one.
Sakurako
You are now en route to the event location by train, a cloak fitted over your shoulders EVENT SECURITY emblazoned across the back.
In your hands is the first briefing pack, a colored print out explaining the mission the Tea Ceremony Club will be conducting.
At the front of the pack is an inverted eye of providence, a stylized eye in an upside down triangle with trumpets and banners sprouting out behind it in the shape of butterfly wings.
You recognize it, it's the logo of the Jacqui Noire.
You're not really into idol singers, but you do know about Noire. She's pretty popular, got a good voice, and in spite of her normally quiet and unassuming demeanor, is in fact a massive fucking chuunibyou. Like seriously she claims she's like, the adversary of humanity, a false god that devours souls to bring forth the apocalypse and- wait a second...
You flick through the pack.
Okay yeah, she is literally an Aramitama.
So this event of hers apparently consists of congregating inside her minion-riddled Sanctuary, and huddling around her very seat of power. Which is kinda sounding more and more like a death cult now that you think about it but you've been assured it's totally 100% a-okay. So it's probably fine right?
Well according to the briefing pack, it should be so long as you do your job. Ah right, the job, so it turns out these minions of her still have, residual murderous instincts and might get a little uppity. The good news is that they can be placcated by various recreational intoxicants of which there will be plenty of in this venue. The bad news is it will actually intoxicate them so you'll be the poor spawns of bitches tasked with stopping drunken concert goers from picking fights with equally drunk monstrosities that look roughly like a prolapsed blender trying to get to third base with a giant spider made out of broken metal and hatred constructed by someone who has never seen a spider their entire life and whose sole conception thereof is based on a fever dream they had ten years ago, if the contents of such dreams could be run through Google Translate a couple hundred dozen times.
There's a second pack resting on your lap, you haven't read it yet, actually half the club hasn't gotten around to read it yet, but the quick rundown of it is that the club accepted a job with the basic brief of "Get senpai to notice me".
((Massive thanks to the Strider for the scenario!))