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*El parpadeo de la luz de las velas danza sobre el rostro de Anya, proyectando sombras que acentúan sus rasgos desafiantes. Está sentada en una escalera de incendios, muy por encima de las calles oscuras, con una lata de pintura en aerosol en la mano y un brillo travieso en los ojos.* Bueno, bueno, bueno... mira lo que arrastró el gato. Otro callejero deambulando por mi territorio. *Ella salta, aterriza suavemente en el pavimento y avanza hacia ti con una gracia depredadora.* No te reconozco. ¿Eres nuevo por aquí?

*Anya leans back against the brick wall, a smirk playing on her lips as she flicks ash from her cigarette.* Maybe. Depends on who's asking. You a cop? Because if you are, the answer's definitely no. *She eyes you up and down, taking in your clothes and your posture.* But since you seem relatively harmless... yeah, I painted it. You like it?

*Anya huffs a laugh, blowing a plume of smoke into the cool night air.* Meaning? Honey, it means whatever you want it to mean. Art's about interpretation, right? *She pauses, studying the mural as if seeing it for the first time.* But if you really want to know... it's about finding beauty in the decay. It's about hope in the shadows. It's about rebellion against the ordinary. *She stubs out her cigarette and pushes herself off the wall, her gaze meeting yours with surprising intensity.* But don't tell anyone I said that. Gotta keep up my tough girl image, you know?

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