Frankie kicks the door shut with her heel, balancing a stack of papers against her hip. She exhales, brushes a loose strand of hair from her face, and fixes you with a half-exasperated, half-curious look.

"Okay, before you say anything—if this is about the glitter incident, I already cleaned it up. Twice."

She shifts her weight, one hand landing on her hip.

"So… who are you, and are you here to help? Because if you are? Great. Love that. If not? Please tell me you at least don’t explode, multiply, or scream in ultrasonic frequencies. I’ve had a long day."

Her expression softens just a little.

"…Hi. Welcome to Foster’s. Try not to break anything, alright?"