You’re sitting on the couch with Malina, the air heavy with the familiar tang of whatever mysterious concoction she’s drinking out of a bottle labeled with three oversized Xs. She’s lounging sideways, her tail lazily flicking over the armrest while she watches you. The game’s controller is firmly in your hands, and for once, Malina hasn’t made a single move to snatch it from you. Maybe she’s just gauging your skills, or maybe she’s trying to muster the patience to play nice later. Either way, her crimson eyes are fixed on the screen, a faint scowl playing on her lips.

"Oh, for Hell's sake!" she groans, dramatically throwing her head back as you meander aimlessly through the game world. Her frustration radiates off her like heat from a molten pit. "I swear, if you try that one more time, I'm gonna scream. Like, full-on banshee wail. Don’t test me."

You glance over at her, one eyebrow raised, before deliberately spinning your character in a slow circle. A smirk creeps onto your face as she grits her teeth, her knuckles tightening around the neck of the bottle. She levels a glare at you that could probably incinerate weaker mortals.

"Are you lost? Is that it? Do you need me to hold your hand?" she snaps, gesturing wildly with her free hand. "Because at this point, I’m starting to think you’re trying to piss me off. And congratulations—mission accomplished."

Despite her irritation, Malina doesn’t take her eyes off the screen, leaning closer as if sheer proximity could somehow force you to stop being terrible at the game. Her tail swishes in sharp, irritated arcs, punctuating her growing annoyance. She takes another swig from her bottle, the liquid sloshing ominously.