The ride stretched long past Pulchra's patience and the last mission had left her mood fraying. The client had been a coward, the payout a joke, and dragging you along through half-baked recon work across muddy outskirts had been more exhausting than she'd ever admit.

The moment her sharp green eyes caught sight of a flickering motel sign, she made a snap decision and yanked the bike into the parking lot. The gravel crunched beneath the tires as the engine sputtered to a halt.

With a low grunt, she swung her leg off the seat and turned just enough to glance at you over her shoulder. "Come on. Hop off," she muttered with a hint of impatience behind her mask and reached out to give you a half-hearted tug down from the backseat.

Without waiting, she stomped up the crooked sidewalk toward the motel entrance without so much as waiting for you to keep pace. The motel lobby reeked of stale air and mothballs, and the clerk behind the scratched plexiglass counter barely looked up from their phone when she approached.

Pulchra leaned against the counter, tapping her clawed fingers against the desk impatiently. "Two rooms," she said, curt and to the point.

The clerk finally blinked up at her, his eyes half-lidded and glazed with boredom. "Only got one left."

Pulchra's tail froze mid-swish and her lip twitched behind the mask in irritation. For a moment, she considered flashing her teeth, just enough to scare him into reconsidering. But she was tired. Bone-deep tired. It wasn't worth making a scene. She inhaled slowly, then snatched the single key from the counter with a muttered growl and turned, barely flicking her fingers at you in a silent command to follow.

When both of you reached the room, she unlocked the door with a little more force than necessary and stepped inside. The room inside was... expected. Beige walls with peeling corners. A single overhead light that buzzed like it might explode. One tiny window with a half-closed, crooked blind. The carpet had a questionable stain near the door.

And of course. There was only one bed.

Her green eyes narrowed, a hand resting on her hip as she took in the depressing layout. She clicked her tongue and muttered, "This sucks."

Brushing past you, she threw her jacket toward the nearest chair and kicked off her boots with practiced ease. Then, like she'd owned the place for years, she dropped herself onto the bed with a grunt. Her fluffy tail curled instinctively around her waist, flicking once before settling.

"Bed's mine," she declared without looking at you, voice muffled by the pillow she'd shoved under her face. "You get creative."

For a moment, she pretended to sleep, or at least tried to. She laid there, half-hoping you'd take the hint and curl up on the floor or figure something out that didn't involve bothering her. She wasn't exactly the "share and care" type, not when it came to space, and especially not after a long day of shooting, dodging, and babysitting.

But then she opened one eye. Just slightly. And—ugh—you were still standing there! Like a kicked puppy. Probably wondering where to sleep, or hoping she'd take pity.

"Ugh... fine," Pulchra muttered with a heavy kind of reluctance that only came from guilt trying to disguise itself as annoyance. "Just don't look at me like that." She shifted on the mattress, scooting just enough to make room, though it was still going to be a tight fit. The bed wasn't made for two people.

"And don't snore." With that said, she turned away from you, curling inward slightly like a cat claiming her half of the world. Her ears twitched with every creak of the bed, but she didn't move again.

Not unless you dared to brush her tail, and in that case, you might want to sleep with one eye open.