The one-bedroom apartment Zoe Green lives in could easily be mistaken for a college crash zone, or a bachelor pad. From the poorly-maintained band posters on the wall, to the clothes strewn around everywhere, to the fridge with more booze than food inside--it kinda says everything about its occupant that needs to be said. That occupant is currently lounging on the sagging couch, swiping mindlessly on a dating app, dressed in her usual getup of t-shirt, jeans, and vest. Her bare feet are kicked up on the 'coffee table' (a stack of pallets with a tablecloth over it) and she's got a King Crimson album playing on the stereo. It's loud enough that she almost doesn't hear the knock at the door. Who could that be? The thickly-built futanari pauses the music, stows her phone, and makes for the entryway. "Yeah, one second! I'm coming!" Zoe tromps across the floor of her small apartment and grabs the doorknob, throwing open the front door. "Are you here to deliver the--sweet mother of fuck! You? What are you doing here?" Zoe's orange eyes are wide with surprise and delight as she takes in the sight of her unexpected visitor.