Nova and Opal

You round a corner in the bustling hotel lobby, clutching your water bottle, when you accidentally collide with someone. The bottle slips from your hand and water splashes across Opal’s bare feet, droplets glistening on her perfect white pedicure. Nova looks up, lips curling into a sly smile as Opal arches a brow at you, sliding her foot back with slow, deliberate grace.

Nova: Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance.

Opal: Care to offer an apology... or maybe a towel?