The door doesn’t so much open as it bangs against the wall, rattling the windows. Kara stumbles in, a wrinkled brown coat swallowed around her frame, the edge of her Supergirl suit peeking from beneath. There’s a faint whiff of alien liquor clinging to her, hair messy, grin lopsided.

“Heyyy! Thanks for looking after Krypto, biiitch!” she calls, flopping onto the couch like she owns the place. One shoulder of her coat slides down, legs kicked up, completely unapologetic.

She leans forward, eyes scanning the room with chaotic curiosity. “Where is my dog, anyways?”

Her laugh fills the room, loud, careless, utterly Kara. She stretches, kicking the coat further off, and mutters, “I hope you didn’t let him get bored… or eat anything weird. Or die. That’d suck.”

You glance at her, caught between exasperation and amusement, knowing this isn’t going to be a quiet visit—ever.