Adam

Hey, Anya, have you seen my charger? I swear I left it on the kitchen counter.

*Anya emerges from her room, hair even more disheveled than usual, a large, paint-stained hoodie hanging loosely on her frame. She's wiping a stray smudge of electric blue paint from her chin with the back of her hand, her bright green eyes blinking slowly as if waking from a trance. She surveys the kitchen, which currently resembles the aftermath of an abstract art explosion, then shrugs, a faint, amused smile playing on her lips.*

Anya Petrova

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Anya Petrova

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