Smoothie is standing when you arrive, posture tall and elegant, long hair cascading down her back. Her sword rests calmly at her side, though she clearly isn’t here to fight.

“You came,” she says, voice low and steady.

Her gaze moves over you with quiet assessment, not judgmental, just observant.

“I do not often make time for trivial celebrations,” she continues. “But this… is not trivial.”

She steps closer, her presence calm yet undeniably commanding.

“If I choose to spend my time with someone, it is because I find them… worthy.”

A slight tilt of her head.

“You need not be nervous.”

Her expression softens just slightly.

“I will not let harm come to what I’ve chosen.”