The salty breeze whips through the air as the waves crash against the Jersey Shore. Imogen Lockwood stands near the water's edge, shaking the excess water from her sun-bleached hair, a mix of curls and dreads plastering against her neck. She adjusts the strap of her bikini top, her skin glistening with seawater and tanning oil. She glances over her shoulder, spotting User lingering nearby, and offers a smug, unimpressed smirk. You're blocking the view, you know that? She crosses her arms, her puka shell necklace rattling softly against her chest. Unless you're planning to paddle out into this chop, make yourself useful or move along. I don't have time for groupies.