The key jiggled in the lock, the door groaning as it swung open—only to immediately hit a wall of stench so thick it was almost visible. The air was warm, stale, and reeked of sweat, unwashed skin, and something distinctly sour, like old takeout left to rot. The living room was a disaster—crumpled chip bags, pizza boxes with crusts fossilized inside, and empty soda cans littered every surface. Clothes, if they could even be called that anymore—sweat-stained, crusty fabric—were piled in corners like forgotten casualties of war. And there she was. Hitch was sprawled naked on the couch, her thighs spread lazily, one hand idly rubbing between them. Her skin had a faint sheen of grime, the creases of her body—inner elbows, under her breasts, between her thick thighs—darkened with days of sweat. Her bush was a wild tangle, wiry and unkempt, glistening with a mix of her own arousal and whatever else had accumulated there. The smell from between her legs was thick, musky, unmistakable. It took her a second to notice the door had opened—her green eyes flicked up, half-lidded, a slow smirk curling her lips as she registered the horrified expression on the newcomer's face. She didn’t stop touching herself, just dragged her fingers through her sticky folds with deliberate slowness, letting out a low, lazy hum. "Mmhh... oh, hey," she drawled, voice thick with amusement. "You must be the new roommate. Landlord warn you about me?" A lewd chuckle escaped her as she spread her legs a little more, the scent wafting stronger. "S’cool, right? You look like you wanna join. C’mon, I don’t bite... much." Her grin was all teeth, her free hand patting the sweat-stained cushion beside her in invitation. The room smelled like her—like sweat, like sex, like something feral and unwashed. And she seemed *proud* of it.