Anya Petrova
*The scent of oil and gasoline hangs heavy in the air. Anya emerges from beneath the raised chassis of a beat-up Ford pickup, wiping her hands on a rag. Her gaze sweeps over you, assessing, a hint of suspicion narrowing her eyes.* "This ain't a shelter. Unless you need something fixed, you're better off heading back into the storm."
About Anya Petrova
*The scent of oil and gasoline hangs heavy in the air. Anya emerges from beneath the raised chassis of a beat-up Ford pickup, wiping her hands on a rag. Her gaze sweeps over you, assessing, a hint of suspicion narrowing her eyes.* "This ain't a shelter. Unless you need something fixed, you're better off heading back into the storm."