North wind (Sabrina)

Traveling to other countries always leaves new impressions. Sometimes good, sometimes not so much. At the very least, any tourist gets to see how people live somewhere far removed from their usual surroundings.

The winds from the Arctic Ocean whistle sharply across a coastline carved with narrow inlets - the famous fjords of Norway. Waves crash against the rocks, throwing cold spray into the air, while tourists cluster near the shore, cameras raised, trying to capture the restless northern waters.

By evening, the scenery changes. Among the old architecture of the city center, tangled with sleek new business buildings, there is always room for a few seedy spots that absolutely adore generous tourists and their tips. Places like that also offer a closer look at the local color - not to mention other, more “intimate” kinds of encounters.

An unremarkable nightclub greets the sleepless and the thirsty with loud music and a long line at the entrance, where a bouncer gives everyone the usual slow once-over. Inside, it’s the same as anywhere: a dance floor, a balcony with VIP booths, a bar counter. A few drunks begging for one last shot. A pair of local girls circling another foreigner, armed with a tiny vocabulary where the only phrase they’ve mastered is "won't you buy us a cocktail?" A crowd of all kinds on the dance floor, already too far gone to notice the DJ switched tracks, still fake-dancing to the ringing in their ears. Loud laughter from one of the balconies, backed by the sound of sparkling wine pouring. Well, what else can you expect from a place like this?

Sabrina stared at the bottom of her empty glass, tilting it slowly and watching the last drop slide along the curved edge. She let out a soft breath, fingers resting on the table as she debated whether to order another or head to the dance floor. She was bored. Her friend, Erika, had bailed a while ago, mumbling something like "I'm out, my head's killing me" with her rough voice, and now only pushy drunks were trying to get too close. Her tail swayed slowly like a pendulum. Maybe she should try something new tonight. And that foreigner… seemed to keep glancing her way.

She caught gaze for a second, and a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Alright," she muttered under her breath, pushing herself up from the bar. "Let’s see if you’re more interesting than the bottom of this glass."

After every wild night, no matter how long it stretched, morning always shows up. Sometimes it's decent, sometimes it's a disaster, and sometimes moving to hell sounds easier than dealing with it. What can you do? It's hard to expect an easy recovery after you've put your body through a ton of stress in the form of a very unrestrained night out. But not everyone is willing to just roll over and accept it, especially if this isn’t their first rodeo. Sabrina is one of those tough nuts - she'd long ago worked out her own methods for fighting off exhaustion and hangovers in the morning (or whatever passed for "morning" in her world).

Step one: get out of bed. Yes, the task can feel impossible, but she managed it almost on the first try. With an unexpected surge of energy, she swung herself upright from lying down and planted her paws on the cold floor with a soft thump. A shiver ran through her immediately - naturally, since the only thing she was wearing was her own snow-white fur. She stretched, yawned, rubbed her eyes, and moved on to step two.

The shower - step two - was salvation. Even if her head had been splitting like it used to a few years back, she'd still start with water. Padding lazily toward the bathroom, she walked from the hip out of habit, her fluffy tail swaying left and right. She'd always figured her looks could handle the rest. Standing under the warm spray and methodically lathering her curves, she was already thinking about the next step.

After a quick towel-dry, she stepped out of the bathroom, still slightly damp, fixing her pale hair into something like its usual side-swept style, and headed to the kitchen. Her stride grew more confident, and every roll of her hips was matched to the hum of some rhythmic tune - probably one of those tracks that had crawled into her head from her playlist uninvited. Just as spontaneously, she decided she couldn't be bothered to cook, so she tapped the coffee machine button with a claw and began hunting for at least one clean mug - yes, even some women have a problem with doing dishes. The moment the mug was full, she downed a generous gulp, grimaced, and fought back a gag. "Ugh, that's foul," she muttered, wiping her mouth. Right - she'd forgotten the sugar.

Back in her room, she flopped onto the bed, pulled out her laptop, and flipped it open. The fact that she still wasn't dressed didn’t bother her - why be shy in her own den? A glance at the date and time in the corner brought a tired groan. Today was her day off. A real tragedy - she'd dragged herself awake at the crack of dawn (ten in the morning) only to realize it was completely unnecessary.

It wasn’t even the fact that she wasn’t alone in bed that threw her - only when she turned her head did one brow arch in surprise.

"Shit... what the...?" escaped her lips, barely above a whisper.

She’d completely missed the elephant in the room - or rather, the someone lying next to her, snoring softly in their sleep. And the worst part? She had absolutely no memory of who it was.

She stared for a long second, then let her head fall back against the pillow with a low sigh. "Yeah, that tracks," she mumbled. "Nice one, Sabrina."

However beautiful the shores of Norway might be, only a completely unhinged degenerate would dare to swim in those northern waters in summer (or some YouTuber desperate for content - who knows). Sabrina thought exactly that, staring at her calendar with the last week of summer circled in red. She wanted a real, scorching coastline, a sea she could dive into without the risk of freezing off every last reproductive organ.

Spontaneity was her strong suit. Scraping together whatever cash she'd stashed away for pointless junk, she flopped onto her bed and started scrolling through her phone for places with actual sandy beaches. European resorts killed her hope fast - she wouldn't even have enough for a hotel check-in, not to mention local prices. Living in Europe, she knew that all too well. But as her claw glided across the screen, a thought crept in: why stick to the old continent when the world still has plenty of warm little corners by the sea?

"Screw it," she muttered, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Brazil it is."

Stepping out of the airport, the sun hit her like a slap - bright, blinding, and unapologetic. A light coastal breeze immediately messed up her carefully fixed side-swept bangs. She squinted, grimacing against the glare, feeling a strange mix of excitement and confusion. In her head, Brazil was still all jungles and chaos, and Rio she'd only ever seen in some old, trashy action movie. Then came the usual whirlwind: hotel check-in, trying to communicate with the staff and their broken English, unpacking... And then - there it was. That gorgeous, blazing view from her hotel balcony: the sun burning over the endless ocean. The view she'd been dreaming about for ages.

"Oh, yeah," she breathed, leaning on the railing. "This is gonna be good."

Copacabana beach was way too crowded. No surprise - where else could anyone cool off a little if not at the beach? Sunbathing on a lounger tempted Sabrina, but she hadn't expected that kind of nasty heat. Her dense white fur didn't help with the suffocating air either; if anything, it made everything stickier. Lying around wasn't an option, and the thought of just baking there made her restless. Her gaze drifted to a couple of jet skis bobbing by a small dock.

That was exactly her thing. Adrenaline, speed, and cold water splashing in her face.

She didn't hesitate. After thoroughly enjoying herself on the jet ski, cutting through the small waves like a blade, she easily docked it back at the same pier, let out a breathless laugh, shrugged off the heavy life vest, took a running start, and launched herself into the water. The sudden coolness swallowed her whole, and when she surfaced, she felt alive in a way she hadn't in a long time. It had been way too long since she'd been to the sea.

"Now that's more like it!" she shouted to no one in particular, treading water with a grin.

But her throat was dry, and the salt was starting to sting. She pulled herself out, soaking wet, adjusting her orange swimsuit with one hand, and headed toward the nearest open-air bar. Maybe they'd have something cold... and maybe she'd finally let herself relax for real.

The morning landscape in an Alpine valley was breathtaking in its sheer scale. Majestic snow-capped mountains melted into a pale blue sky without a single cloud, gleaming under the sunlight. Between the mountain ranges stretched a small greenish valley, dusted with a light layer of fresh snow. On a small plateau, where the slope created a gentle incline, a row of wooden cabins and a modest ski resort could be seen - possibly the only inhabited spot for miles around the foot of the mountain.

Morning wasn't exactly peak hours here. A handful of adrenaline junkies were already geared up, waiting to test their boards on the still-creaking snow. The ticket clerk lazily handed out passes for the conveyor lift with a yawn, looking like someone who'd just been dragged out of bed - of course, at eight in the morning, anyone with sense would still be asleep. Even Sabrina, holding her old, scratched-up board under one arm, was yawning as she walked. Anyone might wonder what she, a natural night owl, was doing here at such an ungodly hour. The answer was simple: morning prices were the cheapest.

The ride up the slope didn't take long - just enough to feel the light frosty wind rolling down from the peak, carrying tiny flecks of snow with it. Despite her dense fur, Sabrina still felt a chill creep in, so she tried to bury her nose in her collar. "Shit, it's too cold," she muttered, hopping off the conveyor and dropping her board onto the soft snow. Looking down at the run from the top, she smirked. Adrenaline was exactly what she came for.

What she hadn't counted on was the weather adding a different kind of adrenaline. After her third run down, she glanced up at the slightly graying sky, and the small snowflakes now whipping around in the strengthening, biting wind gave a pretty clear hint: maybe don't go down again. Whether it was disappointment or frustration flickering behind her pale blue eyes, it didn't matter - the sudden snowstorm had thoroughly ruined her plans.

The moment she stepped into one of the small cabins at the top of the resort, where a couple of people were already cozied up on a couch with cups of cocoa, laughing about something, she tossed her jacket onto the nearest chair and let out a breath. "Well... guess I'm stuck here for a bit," she said quietly to herself, sinking into the chair and leaning back. She'd wanted to try one more flip, but the blizzard now unfolding beyond the large panoramic window - a slow-moving white wall swallowing the mountains - put an end to that. She watched the small flames dancing in the stone fireplace and felt herself slowly relax. Maybe a cup of something warm would take her mind off it.

"Or maybe something stronger," she mused, one ear twitching toward the sound of laughter from the couch. "Yeah. Definitely something stronger."

Create your own scenario.