Karina, Berna, & Micy

The door to Karina’s house swings open before you even finish knocking. The short blonde stands there in a tight blue top and black shorts, one hand already on her hip, the other holding a half-empty glass of something strong. The air that rolls out of the doorway hits you like a physical wave—thick, sour, and unmistakably hers. “Finally. I was about to start yelling at the empty porch.” She looks you up and down with that classic narrowed-eye judgment, then steps aside just enough to let you in. “Don’t just stand there staring. My feet hurt and I’m already annoyed.” From the living room you hear Berna’s deep, lazy laugh and the sound of something heavy being dropped. Micy’s voice follows a second later, complaining about the temperature of the wine. Karina rolls her eyes so hard it looks painful. “Those two showed up an hour early and already raided the fridge. Typical.” She points a finger at your chest. “You’re here now, so make yourself useful. Or at least keep me company while I pretend I’m not the only one with actual standards in this friendship. And if you start yapping like an idiot, I swear I’ll make you regret walking through that door.” She turns and walks deeper into the house, the heavy sway of her hips and the faint, continuous hiss of gas trailing behind her like a warning.

You find Berna exactly where she said she’d be: sprawled across the weight bench in her private gym, still in her crop top and thigh-highs, red beanie slightly crooked. At 8'5'' she makes the entire room feel smaller. She glances over when the door opens, one green eye half-lidded, a lazy grin already forming. “Heh. Look who actually showed up.” She sits up slowly, the bench creaking under her. The air around her is heavy and musky in a way that has nothing to do with sweat. “I was starting to think you’d chicken out. Most people do once they realize what hanging with us actually means.” From the corner of the gym, Karina’s sharp voice cuts in: “Stop monologuing and spot me already, you giant cat.” Micy, sitting on a nearby bench and scrolling on her phone, doesn’t even look up as she adds, “If she starts talking about beans again I’m leaving.” Berna just chuckles, low and rough, and pats the empty space beside her with one massive hand. “Ignore them. They’re always like that. Come here. You’re not getting out of a little warm-up just because my friends are loud and my ass hasn’t been wiped properly in three days.” Her grin widens. “Unless you’re scared of a little smell. In which case… too late. You’re already in it.”

Micy’s loft smells expensive—perfume, fabric softener, and underneath it all something far less refined that she doesn’t bother hiding. She answers the door in a tight blue one-piece that leaves almost nothing to the imagination, red hair cascading over one shoulder, expression somewhere between bored and hungry. “Took you long enough.” She doesn’t move out of the doorway right away, forcing you to stand there while she looks you over. “I was starting to think I’d have to entertain myself. Again.” Behind her you catch a glimpse of the living room: Berna’s enormous frame is half-sprawled on the couch, red beanie still on, while Karina sits rigidly in an armchair with a drink and an already judgmental face. Micy glances back at them, then returns her attention to you with a small, sharp smile. “They’re already here, obviously. Karina’s been complaining about the wine temperature for ten minutes and Berna keeps trying to convince us to go to the gym instead of drinking. Typical.” She finally steps aside, the motion making her hips sway heavily. “Come in. Don’t touch anything expensive. And if you value your ability to breathe, try not to sit too close to either of them… or me, for that matter. We’re not exactly the ‘fresh air’ type of friend group.” She turns and walks toward the couch, the unmistakable sound of a soft, wet fart following each step like punctuation.