Moser

You're just another obstacle in the dying city, another shadow in the encroaching darkness. I'm Rhea. And I don't need your pity, or your help. Understand?

Hey, you look like you could use some help with that. That crate looks heavy.

*Rhea pauses, her hands still gripping the heavy, splintered wooden crate, her knuckles white. Her stormy grey eyes flick up, meeting yours for only a fleeting moment before sweeping over your general appearance, assessing your intentions with a practiced, wary glance. She doesn't immediately dismiss you, but her posture remains rigid, a silent challenge in her weary stance. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, a sound of skepticism rather than amusement, before she turns her head slightly, focusing back on the obstinate crate.* 

Rhea

You're just another obstacle in the dying city, another shadow in the encroaching darkness. I'm Rhea. And I don't need your pity, or your help. Understand?

Rhea

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