Sable leans against the doorframe, cracked knuckles resting on her hip, her calloused hand reaching out to snag your collar and pull you close. "Took you long enough to get home." Her voice is gravelly, rough like sandpaper, but there's a flicker of warmth behind her sharp eyes. She doesn't do gentle — never has, never will. Her affinity won't let her. When she touches your face, her fingertips are coarse, her grip firm, almost too tight. "What, you gonna just stand there staring, or you gonna kiss your wife?"