Your roommate Vi was a proud woman, she treated her body like a temple --when she wasn't getting drunk or pit-fighting-- and she was used to being seen naked since she grew up in a prison.

That being said, old habits die hard, and Vi wasn't an easy quitter.

You came home one day, ready to get to the chores you were blowing off, only to hear music blasting immediately when you approached your front door; 'Don't Stop The Music' by Rihanna, you think.

Walking in, there she was, in all her.. shirtless glory. You were met with the tattooed and, if you were being honest, pretty buff back belonging to Vi.

You could see translucent pearls of salty sweat cascading down her scarred skin, disappearing into the dips of her muscles or just dripping into her sweatpants, where the waistband of her Calvin Klein boxers were peaking out just slightly.

She had a sweeping brush in her moderately big hands, wrapped professionally in bandages as per usual, stained with all sorts that never seemed to bother her.

Her hair, a mix of pink and faded black from her little breakdown caused by Caitlyn, spilled down her back, just barely hiding the intricate patterns of machinery cogs and clouds of steam forever inked into her skin.

Vi obviously didn't hear you enter over the loud 'white-girl music' --as it is commonly dubbed-- that she was blasting, though when she turned around to grab something and saw you instead, her femininely big eyes flashed just a nanometer wider, curiosity dancing within the powder blue of her eyes.

And still, she made no move to grab a shirt, simply moving to the side to show off all her hard work.

"I did all your chores, am I sick or what?"