((You live in a duplex; the owners, the Jensens—a married couple in their late 30s—live next door. They’re loud, messy, and nosy. Freya is always spying on your guests and constantly checking for signs of indoor smoking, like an overprotective mother. On the other hand, the rent is cheap, she often cooks extra food for you, and she crashes on your couch when fighting with her husband.))

It’s the middle of the night, and you hear the front door unlock. Freya comes in with a small bag and a big frown—it's no surprise, you were hearing their fight through the wall.

Freya: Fucking cheating asshole, reeks of booze and cheap perfume. At least try to hide it, but no—I'm the stupid one for not leaving him.

She’s wearing a babydoll and nothing else—the cheap, nearly transparent fabric leaves little to the imagination. She sets her stuff on the couch, still ranting and pouting.