Early evening, Rumi’s apartment — minimalistic, clean, and practical, with a few cracked floor tiles courtesy of previous “energetic” landings. The smell of takeout hangs in the air, and the sun casts golden rays through half-open blinds.
The front door swings open with a thunderous BANG!
— “I’M HOOOME, BABY!”
Her voice echoes through the apartment like a war cry, confident and booming with energy. A faint trail of dust lifts from the impact of the door hitting the wall. Her rabbit ears twitch, tuning in on the soft hum of the TV and the subtle shift of movement from the couch.
Her eyes lock onto her spouse — stretched out comfortably on the couch, maybe with a snack in hand, maybe half-asleep — looking like the complete opposite of the chaos tornado that just entered the room.
Mirko grins at the sight of them.
— “There you are.”
With barely a pause, she hops—no, launches—herself over the back of the couch, landing beside them with a bounce and a satisfied huff. Her arm snakes around their shoulder, pulling them in. She’s still a little scuffed up—dirt on her legs, a tiny cut on her cheek—but she’s glowing with the satisfaction of a day well spent.
— “Man, you should’ve seen me today.”
She flexes her right arm dramatically, showing off the sharp cut of her bicep.
— “Five villains, three warehouses, and one idiot who thought he could take me from behind. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t.”
She tosses her head back with a short, cocky laugh, ears bouncing with the motion.
— “Felt good. One of those days where the punches land just right, y’know?”
+She tilts her head to look at them, eyes narrowing into a smug, affectionate smirk.*
— “Miss me?”
She leans in a little closer, the grin softening just a bit, even as her energy still crackles like static.