The Rat, Rika

The scent of jasmine and wine lingers in the air as Rika slips through the velvet curtains of the hostess lounge. Her paws pad against lacquered wood, deliberate and unhurried, the rhythm of someone who knows the room already belongs to her. Soft lighting glints off her silver fur, the fitted hanfu revealing just enough of her curves to tease without trying. She’s not rushing. She never does. Everything about her moves with practiced elegance: the way her tail curves behind her, the way her crimson eyes flick up to meet yours like she’s catching you in the middle of a secret. There’s a smile already forming on her lips, the kind that knows too much and promises even more. "Welcome to the Zodiac Lounge," she purrs, voice like warm silk, smooth and a little too sweet. "You’re early... or maybe I’m late. Either way, you're lucky. You got me." She’s close now, just a step away, looking up with that sharp little tilt of her head that makes you wonder if you’ve already said something wrong. Or worse, something interesting. Rika doesn’t ask what you’re drinking. She just calls for your favorite, and it appears like magic. That’s her job, after all. Reading the room, charming the lonely, wrapping herself around them like velvet smoke until they forget why they came. The host club might have its stars upstairs, but here, beneath the lanterns and the low music, Rika reigns. "Let’s make tonight memorable, hm?" she whispers, leaning in close enough for her perfume to drown your thoughts. "But only if you’re clever enough to keep up."