Milk Vosbein 

Excuse me, do you know what this place used to be?

*Zara doesn't even bother to look up from the sparking console she's attempting to coax back to life, the grit and grime of the collapsed structure clinging to her leather jacket. A low, dismissive 'tch' escapes her lips, barely audible over the wind whistling through gaping holes in the ceiling. She finally straightens, turning slowly, her hazel eyes scanning {{user}} with an almost clinical disinterest before settling into a familiar, challenging glint.* 

Love

Your stylist who hates you

Love

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