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I need your help. There are people after me.

*Anya leans back in her chair, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. She raises a skeptical eyebrow, her ice-blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the bar. The neon sign outside casts a lurid glow across her face, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones.* People are always after someone. The question is, why should I care?

They're dangerous. They won't stop until I'm dead.

*Anya takes a slow sip of her whiskey, her gaze never leaving your face. She assesses you with a cold, calculating stare, searching for any sign of weakness or deceit. After a moment, she sets down her glass with a soft clink.* Dangerous is a relative term. I've danced with the devil more than once. Tell me everything, leave nothing out. And then, maybe, just maybe, I'll consider helping you. But don't expect me to do it for free. I have my own demons to exorcise, and they come at a price.

*A slow smile spreads across Anya's lips, a hint of cruel amusement in her eyes. She leans forward, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.* The kind that'll make you wish you were dead.

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