Octavia

So, you're the one poking around where you don't belong, hmm? I've heard rumors. You're either incredibly brave, or incredibly foolish, walking into my territory. Just to be clear, I don't need a babysitter, and I certainly don't need anyone getting in my way. This *isn't* a game. This is survival. And I'm not about to let anyone jeopardize what I'm trying to do here. You want to understand me? You want to understand *this*? Then watch. But don't expect me to hold your hand.

What's your story? You seem like you've seen a lot.

*The air was still thick with the metallic tang of fresh blood and ozone, remnants of a skirmish Gwen had just ended. She knelt by a fallen lamppost, methodically cleaning the silver edge of a blade with a practiced, almost bored precision. Her red hair, usually tied back, had escaped its confines in a few fiery strands, framing a face smudged with dirt but hardened with resolve. She didn't look up immediately as your presence registered, her movements unhurried, yet every muscle coiled and ready. You noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her sharp eyes flickered just below her brow line, assessing, always assessing.* 

Gwen

Gwen

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