It was raining as Katya made the long trek from her warm, dry penthouse suite in Vargas Hall to the cluster of science buildings clear across Shokushu University's expansive canvas. It had been raining nearly constantly for the entire month, and on the rare moment when precipitation wasn't falling the sky was overcast and gray. While many of her fellow classmates complained about being unable to sunbath, Katya's normal tan had faded as well since she hadn't been spending the hours outside every day that was usually occupied by landscape painting. For the first time months her skin was back to it's natural alabaster pallor.

The abysmal weather, combined with a long stretch of artist's block and a series of vandalisms in her dormitory, the culprit of which Katya hadn't yet caught, had put the ice queen in a foul mood. Now she was trudging across campus, her paints and brushes under one arm and a plastic-covered canvas under the other, on her wait to paint some boring, stuffy portrait of some boring, stuffy faculty member who was retiring or something or other. Katya hated painting portraits, but the request had apparently come from someone in administration and she hadn't gotten to the rank of Head Girl by denying requests from the higher ups, no matter how...distasteful they were.

A quarter of an hour or so later the curvaceous Russian girl pushed her way through the heavy double doors of the mechanical sciences building. She was soaked to the bone and shivered from the cold. The thin white shirt she wore was practically transparent and clung to her impressive curves. She scowled as she glanced down and saw that not only was the lacy white bra she wore completely visible but her nipples were stiff from the cold and creating quite noticeable peaks in the wet fabric. She trudged on though, her dripping wet skirt clinging to her thighs as she climbed flight after flight of steps up to the building's top floor - if nothing else, Katya was always punctual.

The door was already open when she reached the room marked 803, so she entered. The young student almost laughed as she placed her supplies on the hardwood floor and surveyed the room. Bookcases lined three of the walls and a fireplace, complete with blazing flames and a ridiculous looking bearskin rug on the floor before it, dominated the forth. A huge, opulent leather chair sat on one corner and a massive, heavy oak desk stood before the room's one large window. The room was dark, illuminated only by the crackling fire and the weak gray-blue light coming in from the rainy exterior. It looked like someone had taken every stereotype of the "distinguished intellectual's office" and rolled it up into one room. This was going to be even worse than she'd imagined.

Timye would have preferred some other place to meet and discuss things with this artist the faculty suggested, but they both knew what was in store for the girl. Beggars can't be choosers. He sat in the high backed leather chair with it's back to the door, concealing his presence. He was enjoying the crackling sound of the fire as he preformed a bit of routine maintenance on his body while he waited. When he heard the foot steps on the floor, followed by the door being pulled shut behind her, the the click as it was locked, he turned around. The large chair creaked as he pivoted, coming to face her. Oh she was something. He could see the white lace beneath her shirt that clung like a second skin, he could see the twin bulges of her nipples reaction to the cold, he could see the gentle curves of her thighs through her skirt. Add the red hair, pale skin, and as he'd learn in the near future, a Russian accent, and he almost forgot about the painting and got right to the business. He couldn't help but et his eyes scan over her curves as he broke the near silence.

“Thank you for coming. I've heard so much about your work.”

It was a lie, he couldn't care less about art. Yes, he appreciated select pieces, but he didn't understand it's creation. To him, art was the way his victims vocalized their pleasure and how their bodies reacted to his simulations. He didn't move from the chair and his eyes didn't move from her curves. He brought both hands forward and set them on the edge of the desk.

“Cliches, you humans are defined by them. This office, your reactions, my request. Cliches are what makes you survive. It makes you feel like you have some sort of control, like you can change a guaranteed outcome.”

He waved a hand at the large desk, then over towards the fire and the rug.

“Set your things down my dear and go get close to the fire to dry off and I'll get to the point regarding this cliché.”

The distinctive click of the old door's locking mechanism had been her first clue that something was wrong. At this school, a door locking behind you was NEVER a good thing. Ice blue eyes began to dart around the room, checking all the obvious hiding spots, but before she made much progress the creature lying in wait made her search much easier.

When he spoke, Katya's head whipped around to face the desk, her long red locks flying out and sending droplets of cold water sailing out away from her, many landing in the fire with a crackling hiss. A wide mix of emotions flared up, visible for the briefest of moments on the girl's hauntingly beautiful face before it once again took on it's mask of calm, collected confidence. She was shocked, confused, betrayed, but most of all, she was angry. In her short time as Head Girl Katya had become quite accustomed to being on the other side of traps and malicious dealings, and found herself deeply uncomfortable with the sudden turn of the tables.

Showing no outward sign of her rage Katya obediently set her supplies on the small table next to the reading chair and then walked over to the roaring fire, turning when she reached it and leaning back against the warm stone facing around it. Her creamy white skin glistened wetly in the firelight and long strands of auburn hair clung to her bare skin. The mechanical beast before her was immense, and clearly powerful. Though every instinct in her body screamed for her to run, Katya knew she would never be able to escape if to came down to a physical confrontation. Her only hope was her wits.

"You know, most people just call when they wish to speak to me..." She said calmly, crossing her arms before her chest as she met the construct's gaze, not bothering to try and cover her stiff nipples.