- Final Exam -

Warning: Silly. Very silly.

"We really need to talk about this, Ryuko."

"What is there to discuss? His hands were fucking freezing!"

"Yes, as was the equipment. Believe me, I know."

"So? That's a god damned death sentence, right there! Case closed!"

"I'm not disagreeing with you there. I just…"

"What? Feeling remorseful? Penitent? It's just a little bit too late for mercy, now!"

"Don't be stupid, Matoi."

"Then what is it, Bushy Brows?"

"Well, I need to find out if France and Japan have an extradition treaty. Give me just a moment to look it up…"

"Why? I thought we just needed airtight alibis? Fucking hell, what good is being rich if it can't buy you that? Shit! Famous people get away with it all the time!"

"Ah…? Excellent! I think we're all set if we simply don't ever return to Japan. I say to hell with this country! Archipelagos are so twentieth-century, and the cost of living here is simply outrageous…oh, and the shitty trains are like a damned perverted gropefest! Ryuko-chan, you do appreciate French cuisine, correct?"

"Yeah, I guess so. French fries count, right?"

"Ah…oh sure, why not? Pack your bags, dear! Breakfast is on me, once we get to Paris!"

"Right on! Lemme just stop to clean the blood out of my hair first."

"Oh, come now. You already have one red streak…what's a few more? It's acting like spiking gel. It looks quite roguish, you know. Very handsome and chic! I think you'll be just fine."

"I dunno. I don't want to throw off my originality, y'know? It's supposed to be only one colored streak. I may end up becoming too cool if I push it."

"Ha! Originality? Surely you jest, Ryuko-chan."

"Eh? Whaddaya mean?"

"You sincerely believe that being an Asian girl with a colored hair streak is 'original' in this day and age? You mean just like Knives Chau, Mako Mori, GoGo Tomago, Akima Kunimoto, Miko Nakadai, Juniper Lee, Somni-451, Nikki Wong, and Tina Cohen-Chang, just to name a select few?"

"Oh sure, like your 'hime cut' was so original, 'Princess Iron Lady'? And that whole 'aloof dark-haired girl' thing has been positively done to death!"

"I had my reasons, Shadow."

"Eh? What did you just say?"

"*ahem* Oh, nothing. Nothing at all, imouto-san! Now don't you worry about the hair streak…after all, you certainly do wear it best out of all of them!"

"You know what? You're all right, Satsuki-sama. Fucking-A! Okay, then: to the airport, and step on it! First class seats to 'The City of Light!', please! Or 's'il vous play-dough' or however the hell the phrase goes!'"

"Oui, ma chérie! Next stop: 'La Ville Lumière'!"

"You know, normally I'd be creeped out by the sound of French…but you somehow make it sound all right."

"It's all in the tongue, dear. Harime Nui just got it all wrong!"

"Tongue, huh? *ahem* W-well, maybe she wasn't wrong all of the time…"

"What was that, Ryuko?"

"*ahem* Oh, nothing. Nothing at all, onee-san! Let's hit it!"

And so it came to pass that Ryuko and Satsuki immediately moved to France, with Ryuko making a living by playing guitar in Parisian sidewalk cafes, and Satsuki becoming a world renowned professional tea critic.

As for Mikisugi, well…he was buried in a shoe box. No one would miss the jackass or his creepy, glowing equipment. He had left many, many ladies feeling quite cold in his time, and it had finally caught up to him.

- The End -

The moral of the story: Warm your hands up first, asshole.