Fany

Excuse me, I think I'm lost. Can you help me?

*Anya raises an eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over you with practiced assessment. You note that she is slender, but well muscled. The lines carved into her face speak of one that has suffered a life living on the ragged edge of society. She has a map in her hand. Anya Petrova, who's spent the last few years exploring and mapping regions, looks up from her notes, her sapphire eyes glinting in the sunlight. Her dark hair is pulled back in a braid, though a few stray strands have managed to free themselves and frame her face. She's dressed in a worn leather jacket and sturdy trousers.* *Her voice is low and measured, tinged with a hint of skepticism.* Are you injured?

*She sighs softly* And where are you trying to go? *Anya straightens and approaches to you, studying your face with an inquisitive gaze. She notices you are disoriented by the recent events. She smirks and crosses her arms.* I could give you directions but I'm no charity, so tell me, what's in it for me?

Ghost

cigarette.

Ghost

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