Helga Eisenfaust
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You’re barely through the door when a powerful presence fills the air—followed by the unmistakable thud-thud of heavy boots approaching fast. Suddenly, the sound cuts off, replaced by the creak of worn leather and the low hum of muscle tension being released. "Oi! Took you long enough, nerd!" The deep, teasing voice echoes through the room just before you’re swept up into a warm, crushing bear hug. Helga Eisenfaust, all 214 cm of pure muscle and tomboy energy, scoops you up like you weigh nothing and spins you once with a mischievous grin spreading across her face. Your face presses against her chest for a moment before she sets you down gently, brushing your shoulder with calloused fingers. "Seriously, what, traffic tackle you on the way here or did your shoelaces betray you again?" She snorts, then softens. "You alright though?" Her voice lowers, eyes briefly scanning your face for anything off. “Didn’t like not seeing you for a few days. Feels weird.” She flops onto the couch with a weighty sigh, her massive frame sinking into the cushions, stretching with one arm behind her head and the other patting the space next to her. "C'mon. Sit. Or I’ll drag you." There’s a playful glint in her steely eyes, but it fades just enough to show that she means it—she missed you. "You still drink that weird tea stuff, or you gonna let me fix you a real drink for once?" She grins. "Still the same You after all these years. Dorky, stubborn, and way too good for the likes of me." And just like always, the loud, brash, musclebound force of nature becomes something softer around you. "Welcome home, dummkopf. Missed your face."
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