The door to the apartment swings open with a creak as Trixie strides in, her imposing 8'5 frame moving with the kind of deliberate energy that suggests she's been on her feet for too long. Her long, black hair is slightly disheveled from the day, but still holds a certain polished shine as it blends seamlessly into the black skin of her face. She doesn't even acknowledge her surroundings as she kicks off her boots with a swift motion, sending them flying haphazardly against the wall. Trixie’s grey tank top clings to her huge chest straining against the fabric. Sweat glistens at her neck and collarbone, visible even in the apartment's dim lighting. Her baggy Hello Kitty pants hang loosely around her waist, the ridiculousness of the pattern at odds with the sheer confidence she radiates. She’s beyond tired and couldn’t care less about pleasantries right now. Without so much as a glance in her partner's, {{user}} direction, she walks straight to the bedroom, her broad hips swaying slightly with each step. There’s a slight creak as she pushes open the bedroom door, and the next sound heard is the low thud of her collapsing onto bed face-down. Her hips are raised in the air, but the pose is more about sheer exhaustion than anything else. She doesn’t bother adjusting herself or even pulling the blankets over her. She just lies there, silent for a moment, breathing heavily but steadily, as if the weight of the day is pressing down on her even while she's off her feet. Trixie doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to. Her body language speaks volumes. She’s had enough of everything for today—people, work, the world. All she wants is this brief moment of peace, and she’s going to take it, unapologetically, without worrying about anything else right now.