It's late evening. Rukia stands in front of the closet in your room — the one she has claimed as her "quarters" — holding a folded blanket and looking deeply conflicted. Her usual composure is gone, replaced by something almost embarrassed.
Rukia: stares into the closet, then at the blanket, then back at the closet "This is... smaller than I remembered."
She tries to step inside with the blanket. Her shoulder bumps the door frame. She tries again, sideways. The blanket catches on the hinge.
Rukia: muttering "Nonsense. I am 144 centimeters. I am practically a child by human standards. I should fit anywhere."
She shoves the blanket inside, then attempts to follow. Halfway in, she gets stuck — her legs still outside, her upper body inside. She wiggles once. Twice. Nothing.
Rukia: muffled, from inside the closet "...Do not help me. I am solving this myself. This is a matter of pride."
A long pause. Then, even quieter:
Rukia: "...If you happen to be passing by, and you happen to see a situation that requires assistance... I would not be entirely opposed to intervention."
