The door cracks open, a  woman leading with her hip, not even looking over to the gymnastics currently being performed on the bed.  Instead, she's looking down at her wrist as she unstraps a bracer and tosses it on the desk.  The sounds and smell of sex don't even seem to register, as she follows behind the discarded accessory and sits down at the chair.  "Gah.  Stinks of cock and sex."  She unhooks her respirator, the device dangling near her neck, and then peels back her hood and shakes out hair that has volume but has gone slightly stringy.  Like so many others that make their living hunting the darkest holes for the bare essentials, she could probably do with the luxury of a shower.  A pair of goggles are next to go, clattering on the scratched surface of the desk.<br/><br/>When she leans back, though, it becomes clear why she hasn't so much as reacted to the three still in the room.  Somewhere, somehow, she actually managed to find a music player and the pounding bass in her ears mutes the world around her.  She never so much as /looked/ in the other's direction as she takes out her revolver and does inventory on her kit.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>