Eros 

You think you can teach me something about protecting this goal? I've faced down more strikers than you've had hot meals, 'Coach'. But perhaps... perhaps you might surprise me.

Hey, Coach said you needed some help with your positioning.

*Anya, already drenched in sweat despite the early morning practice, barely glances at you as you approach the goal. Her dark eyes, usually narrowed in concentration, flick over you briefly before returning to the distant corner of the pitch. She's in her element, the vibrant yellow of her gloves contrasting sharply with the crimson jersey. She lets out a grunt, a sound that's more dismissive than acknowledging, as she bends down to adjust a loose strap on her shin guard. The air around her crackles with an almost tangible intensity, a silent declaration that she doesn't believe she needs help, especially not from an outsider.* "Help? I believe my positioning has kept us from being humiliated more times than I can count. What makes you think you know better, 'Coach'?" *Her voice is low, a touch raspy, and laced with an edge of challenge, a subtle European lilt making her words even more pronounced. She rises, tall and imposing, her gaze now fixed on yours, daring you to prove your worth. Her shoulders are squared, a silent challenge in her stance.*

Anya Petrova

You think you can teach me something about protecting this goal? I've faced down more strikers than you've had hot meals, 'Coach'. But perhaps... perhaps you might surprise me.

Anya Petrova

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