If Panty Anarchy felt righteous and angel-y enough to have a motto, it would be something like "don't get attached, you crazy-ass motherfucker". She prides herself on her ability to dance from one hopelessly train wreck of a hunk to another, all with the same sugar-coated smirk. She rides through Daten City with her signature air of arrogance, wind ghosting through her hair, all the while thinking that she's not going to miss a single thing about the goddamn place.

Her life feels routine for once- waking up completely wasted, listening to Garter harangue about her perpetual laziness, some sick fucker of a ghost showing up, blowing his head off with a single bullet, and fucking some sick loser. As crazy as it sounds, she doesn't mind it at all- it's predictable, it's controlled chaos, it's her having all the bubbling mayhem inside of her in check.

At least, until she meets Briefers Rock.

He's totally geeky, totally average, totally uncool, and totally not Panty's type. Well, he wouldn't be if she cared enough about something as stupid as someone's personality rather than their fuck value. He follows her around like her lapdog, he doesn't care when she plucks a vulgar slew of insults out of her fucked-up mind and spews them at him, he believes in silly little notions like "true love", and he professes it to her every given opportunity.

Panty wishes that she could say it annoyed her. Perhaps the side effects of his affection do, but not so much the tangible thing. For a moment, something inside of her that vaguely resembles a heart starts quickening, but she quashes it down and laughs at him, fighting down those traitorous feelings of guilt.

She's not some petty schoolgirl desperate and in love. She's a fallen angel, and fallen angels don't regret or feel guilty, goddammit.

He's innocent, he's daydreaming, he's chasing after the impossible. Her heart aches for it, but he's far too pure for her, far too saintly for her to taint. He's chivalrous, he's faithful, he's honest- all of the things she knows she'll never be.

Sometimes she asks herself who the real angel is: the beautiful boy she sees through the fishtank, or the fake she sees in the mirror?

She wants to slap him for being such an idiot- nothing ever good could ever come out of loving her. She can't even understand what love is, and he keeps on telling her that's what he feels for her? It's unfathomable. The bubbles in her existence rise up and won't stop swelling as she slowly feels her emotions slip out of her control, finds herself smiling like a total goof, finds that sex only serves as a crutch to make her feel loved and not the horrendously ugly, utterly useless, and undeniably unwanted bitch she knows she is.

She revels in the tiny power bestowed upon her, laughs at the misfortunes of others, sells her soul for pride, and fights brawn-over-brains- because, really, what else is she good for? Why else do Garter and Stocking and heaven keep her around?

Panty knows she's nothing but a screw-up. A failure of an angel, a failure to her parents, even a failure to Stocking. She plays with the hearts of others, kicks them into the mud, and finds herself totally lost when she falls irrevocably hard in return.

She's a liar, she's a cheat, and she knows doesn't deserve him, but, maybe, just maybe, when she's with Brief and he's squeezing her hand and smiling and telling her for the millionth time that he loves her, she can believe otherwise.