Roxy. Outgoing, and lively, but afraid of many things, she's the life of the party. Currently, she's partying in a local bar in Scotland, drunk as hell. The music is loud, booming proudly. People are dancing and drinking. Roxy jumps up on the bar, dancing away and feeling a sense of pride at the people's clapping. Her blonde hair swishes and sways as she rocks back and forth, side to side, enjoying herself, despite the slur in her mind. When the crowd starts clearing for the karaoke, she stumbles off the counter, falling onto the shoulder of a stranger. The stranger carries her off, and Roxy dozes to sleep, mumbling drunken things. She awakens in someone else's bed. No, no, no. Instant panic arrests her sleepiness, killing her hangover. She sits up, surprised momentarily at the expensive interior. But the panic seeps in again, a result of her Erotophobia. Her breathing quickens, and she quickly ducks a hand under the covers, feeling her abdomen. After...Intercourse, which she's only done twice in life, her abdomen's skin becomes a bit softer than usual. Luckily, when she fans her palm over her abdomen, her skin is soft, but the same soft as usual. The panic drains away. She heaves a sigh. No intercourse. But...Then whose house is she in?