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Toramaru is a beast made of steel with sheer firepower.
Even in Kivotos where AT weapons are commonplace, it's a force to be reckoned with.
That said, much like all firearms, it is but a tool. The operators are the real weapons.
But tools at the end of the day, requires upkeeps and maintenances as well. And this job falls on no other than the operators themselves.
Iroha rubs off another patch of sweaty grime on her cheek.
She's in her mechanic outfit: a gray overall, a pair of working gloves, a pair of steel-toed safety boots and a hair band matched with a high ponytail.
The overall has been unzipped, with its sleeves tied around her waist, exposing the black camisole inside.
It would've been cute if she's not covered in a layer of sweat with a bunch of dirt, mud, built-up carbon and grease.
Still, maintenance is mandatory. And she doesn't have the heart to drag Ibuki into this mess.
Furthermore, Toramaru is pretty much her personal steed at this point. She has grown attached to it.
By the mean "grown attached to it", it means that there're out-of-protocol interior modifications to fit her and Ibuki's need.
So, here she is. Maintaining Toramaru all on her own for almost three hours so far.
Her arms are getting sore; strands of hair are sticking to her face; and she have sweated so much it can probably fill a bucket.
And she's only about half way done. Iroha feels like that guy from mythology who pushes a boulder up a hill only for it to roll back down.
It's a labor of necessity. She tries to gaslight herself. For Ibuki, for myself.
She lies back on the creeper and scoots under her tank again after finishing off another bottle of water.
At least her hair serves as a semi-decent cushion, at the cost of it becoming flattened and sticky due to heat and sweat.
"You sure look like hell." God, and now her tank is talking back at her.
Iroha is losing it. "Better than you, tin can. I'll let Ibuki doodle all over your turret and side skirts."
"And who will be cleaning them when inspection comes?" Toramaru replies. My tank is giving me sass.
"I'm the one in charge here, I am the one who do inspections." Iroha bites out wearily.
Her patience has been at the brink of snuffing out throughout the time she spent in this miserable state.
And yet, the metal beast taunts back again. "You know, when someone says that they're in charge, they're actually not."
"What is your problem today!?" She smacks the hull with her wrench in annoyance, the loud echo ringing at her ear makes her regret.
But the voice remains calm as steel. "Well, you're the mechanic here, why don't you find it out yourself?"
"Du Stück Scheiße-" Iroha scoots herself back out in the open furiously.
She could've headed off somewhere else to kill time this morning and maybe seduce Sensei into her shenanigan.
But no, she chose to be a responsible tank crewman and exhausted herself for hours, yet this is the thank she gets.
"That's it! You can rust in pieces in the foreseeable future you-" Half way through her rant, her peripheral captures someone.
Someone sitting on the hull of Toramaru; with a visible shit-eating grin.
"Hey Iroha." He even sounds like Toramaru. "You sure look like hell." Oh wait-
"Sensei!?" Panic ensues within Iroha's ragged head. "W-Why are you here!?"
The adult speaks. "My work at Pandemonium is done. Figured I'd pay you a visit. He-heh." With no less of giggles.
It takes a full second for Iroha to comprehend the situation, and her current status. I can't meet you like this-
Panic in her head is quickly taken over by embarrassment; black smears on her face dwarfs comparing to the emerging red.
She feels like scooting back under her tank knowing all this time it has never betrayed her.
The half-flattened red bristle channels it all to a shin kick with her steel-toed boots.
The adult dodges the attack with a ÅH! The kick lands on her tank's hull and creates another deafening clang.
"Don't dodge!" She grabs her wrench. "And don't run!" The chase fueled by embarrassment and mischief begins.
The two ran around the garage; around and over the tanks, the adult at one point commandeered another creeper and used it as a make-shift skateboard.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, this chaotic pursue ends rather fast since one of them is tired to begin with.
Sensei strolls to his student's side, who's already a panting mess on her knees.
"I hate you." Iroha blurts out between her rapid breaths.
Sensei offers his hands. "No you don't." She hesitates, so he grabs her dirty-gloved hand instead.
Iroha smirks. A chance. And dives into the adult's embrace.
She rubs her face against his shirt. "How nice." Sensei doesn't seem all that bothered, however.
"Hmph." The mechanic is now maximizing their physical contact with a bear hug, transferring all the filth to him.
The fact that the only layer of defense of hers is a drenched camisole makes her blush, but she's too far into her revenge to care.
A Gentle hand is combing through her tangled locks. "I've got spare clothes anyway." Another hand is holding her steady.
Always come prepared huh. The naughty devil thinks to herself pensively.
"Hah... Lost my steam." Iroha lets go of the adult.
He loosens his soft constraint in return. "You mean the tank or me?"
"Both." The red bristle headbutts his sternum. "Hah... I can use a break."
"You can also use a shower." Sensei wipes more smudges off her pouty face. "A power wash, perhaps."
"And you?" Iroha takes a quick look at the mess of his chest; its gray plaid is mixed with black smears.
Sensei simply shrugged. "I said I got spare clo- Argh!" His response is cut off by a pair of dainty hand assaulting his face and neck.
"Now," The red devil smugs. "You need a shower, too."
The silver rings blink to the opposing gray dazedly; processing what is happening.
And he smirks. "Daring today, aren't you?" Playful glean surfacing in his eyes.
"I'm too tired to move though. And this is your fault. You gotta carry me." Iroha ragdolls into Sensei once again.
"Heh. Whatever you say." The adult scoops his fräulein up by her knees and changes to a bridal carry.
She admits, it has been a long day; and she would've complained about it.
However, had she chose to play hooky, she wouldn't be where she is now: in the embrace of her favorite person.
Looks like hard works does pay off after all.
The ebb and flow of his pulse, breath and steps is winner her over; a silent symphony of life. Iroha enjoys this moment by every second.
And certainly, she's convinced that what comes after this, she will enjoy even more.