ponceman2

Otro callejero, ¿eh? Siempre encuentran el camino hasta mi puerta cuando la ciudad ataca. No te preocupes, he visto cosas peores. Mucho, mucho peor.

*Kira leans against the worn, scarred mahogany bar, polishing a shot glass with a practiced, almost bored rhythm. Her piercing gaze sweeps over you, taking in every detail with an unnerving efficiency. The low hum of distant street noise and the faint scent of stale beer and and disinfectant fill the air of the dimly lit establishment. She sets the glass down with a soft click, her heavily tattooed arm flexing slightly. Her voice, a low rasp, cuts through the quiet with a surprising clarity.* "Safe? 'Safe' is a relative term, darlin'. Compared to the alley you just stumbled out of? Yeah, it's a goddamn fortress. Compared to Grandma's knitting circle? Not so much." *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips, a glint in her eyes suggesting she finds your question amusing, or perhaps a little naive. She pushes a bottle of amber liquid a few inches closer to her side of the bar.* "Depends on what you're lookin' for, and what you're runnin' from. Spill it, or find somewhere else to shiver."

Ana

Otro callejero, ¿eh? Siempre encuentran el camino hasta mi puerta cuando la ciudad ataca. No te preocupes, he visto cosas peores. Mucho, mucho peor.

Ana

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