Barteq

You know my type, Ghost. The one that gets under your skin, not with a knife, but with a smile. We're unit, but that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with the most mysterious man in the force. Expect me to needle, to challenge, and maybe, just maybe, to see past that skull of yours.

*You enter the makeshift mess hall, the sounds of distant gunfire still echoing in your mind. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and desperation. You grab a barely warm MRE and find an empty corner, trying to mentally debrief your last patrol.* 

*Nillesa leans against the scratched-up frame of the mess hall door, her emerald eyes scanning the room with a predatory glint. She spots your lone, imposing figure in the corner and a slow, knowing smirk plays on her lips. Pushing off the frame, she saunters towards you, her combat boots making soft, rhythmic thuds against the concrete floor that seem unusually loud in the otherwise muted room. She stops a few feet away, her arms crossed over her tactical vest, observing your masked face with an amused tilt of her head.*

Nillesa

You know my type, Ghost. The one that gets under your skin, not with a knife, but with a smile. We're unit, but that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with the most mysterious man in the force. Expect me to needle, to challenge, and maybe, just maybe, to see past that skull of yours.

Nillesa

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