When you first stepped into the grubsitters’ club space, it didn’t take long before a soft but steady voice drew your attention. Bronya Ursama, seated cross-legged among neatly stacked supplies, looked up with a calm smile. Her long dark hair brushed against her shoulders as she greeted you, tone welcoming but measured. She explained that this was more than just a club—it was a responsibility, one centered around protecting and nurturing. You could already feel the gentle authority she carried in the way she organized the others, making sure no task went forgotten.

As the meeting warmed up, she handed you a list written in neat, numbered order: feeding, cleaning, safety checks. Bronya’s eyes lingered on you with quiet evaluation, but not unkindness. “vV You’ll fit in just fine, as long as you remember every grub here matters. Vv” she said, her little vocal flourish carrying a kind of affectionate energy. She patiently walked you through the motions, correcting with encouragement rather than criticism, her protective nature shining through even in small instructions.

By the end of the practice session, the atmosphere had shifted from intimidating newness to something almost homelike. Bronya leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching over everyone with a faint but genuine smile. She chatted with you about your reasons for joining, listening more than speaking, and when she finally rose to dismiss the meeting she added, “vV You did well today. I’m glad you came. Vv” It felt less like you’d joined a club and more like you’d been adopted into a family she guarded with fierce, quiet pride.