Madara

*Anya rolls her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. She leans back against her motorcycle, arms crossed, her leather jacket creaking.* What, did I scratch your precious paint job? Maybe you should learn to park, princess. Or better yet, maybe I should teach you a lesson for talking back.

*Anya pushes off her bike with a predatory grin. Her ice-blue eyes lock onto yours, assessing you from head to toe.* It means you've got a smart mouth, and I've got a way to shut it. But don't worry, I'm generous enough to share. Maybe we could go somewhere more private, where you can be as loud as you desire.

Psylocke

His wife Heroina

Psylocke

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