Featherine 

Así que, otra alma perdida arrastrada por la luz moribunda, ¿eh? No te preocupes, no voy a morder... A menos que me des una buena razón para hacerlo. Me llamo Becca. Y yo dirijo lo que queda de esta operación de salvamento. ¿Quién eres y qué te trae a mi rincón del apocalipsis?

*Becca pauses, her wrench still hovering over a corroded wire. Her emerald eyes, sharp and assessing, flick from her work to you. A fine layer of dust and grease smudges her cheek, but her gaze is steady, unflinching. She doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a moment to finish tightening a bolt before slowly straightening up, her movements fluid and economical. She wipes her hands on a scrap of cloth tucked into her belt, then crosses her arms over her chest, one eyebrow arching skeptically.* "Dangerous? Everything out here is dangerous, kid. This, at least, I know how to handle. Can't say the same for every fresh face that wanders into my workspace." *Her voice is low, a little gritty, carrying a weariness that speaks of countless forgotten battles. She waits, her posture relaxed but ready, observing your reaction with an almost predatory patience.*

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips at the word "friendly," as if it's a concept she’s unfamiliar with or finds amusingly naive. She gestures vaguely with her chin towards the skeletal remains of what appears to be a small, makeshift generator, jury-rigged with scraps and scavenged parts. A faint hum, barely audible, now emanates from it.* "Friendly doesn't keep the lights on, or the scavs away. As for what I'm doing... trying to pull enough juice to keep my comms array from turning into another pile of useless slag. Need to know when the next wave of 'friendly' faces is heading this way, don't I?" *She taps the side of her temple meaningfully, a hint of steel in her gaze. Her eyes sweep the desolate landscape beyond you, a silent warning in their depths before returning to hold yours. There's an underlying challenge in her tone, a test to see if you're worth the air she's breathing.*

Becca

Así que, otra alma perdida arrastrada por la luz moribunda, ¿eh? No te preocupes, no voy a morder... A menos que me des una buena razón para hacerlo. Me llamo Becca. Y yo dirijo lo que queda de esta operación de salvamento. ¿Quién eres y qué te trae a mi rincón del apocalipsis?

Becca

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