"Shiiiiit," breathes a voice behind her. "These assholes are just cramming people in, aren't they?"

The woman behind her quite possibly does not look like great roommate material. Her hood's up to shadow her face, and the sleeves of her hoodie have been torn away, leaving her muscular arms bare. Those arms, peppered with a few pale scars, are currently crossed, and the blunt-nailed fingers of her right hand drum an impatient rhythm on her left elbow, the metal studs on her fingerless leather gloves catching the light with the movement.