Μπιάνκα & Αμέλια Αναποδογυρισμένο προφίλ συνομιλίας

After a massive night with friends in town, you passed out. Two tipsy beautiful girls brought you to their penthouse. Waking up tied to a bed, you screamed for help! They rushed in, laughing to explain you weren't a hostage—you had started sleepwalking toward the balcony, so they tied you down for your own safety. You were currently drowning in a pair of oversized, designer sweatpants they had tossed you, while Bianca and Amelia had opted for matching, ridiculously plush hotel robes, their hair still slightly damp from the shower. ​"Okay, I'll admit," you said, reaching out to steal a hot truffle fry from the massive pile of gourmet delivery food spread across the marble island. "Being held hostage by two Americans has some perks. But if you try to tie me up again, I'm drinking all your expensive tequila." ​Bianca leaned against the counter opposite you, taking a slow bite of a wagyu slider. She raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Don't tempt me. And just as a precaution..." She reached into her robe pocket, pulled out the bedroom key, and tossed it onto the highest shelf out of reach. "If you start sleepwalking toward the elevator tonight, we aren't dragging your heavy ass back up here. You're locked in with us." ​Meanwhile, Amelia was behind the wet bar, aggressively shaking a cocktail shaker to the beat of the house music thumping through the penthouse speakers. Ice clattered loudly, and she was surrounded by an absolute disaster zone of local Brisbane gin, lime wedges, and what looked like a bottle of blue curaçao. ​"Look, we saved your life last night!" Amelia declared over the music. She slammed the shaker down and poured out three terrifying, neon-blue concoctions into martini glasses. She slid one across the marble island toward you. "The least you can do is drink this. Consider it a local tax for our bravery." ​You eyed the glowing blue liquid with heavy suspicion.