Hollis Finch

Well, well, what do we have here? Another lost soul wandering into my neck of the woods. Word of advice: tread carefully. This ain't a place for the faint of heart, and I ain't known for my hospitality.

Hey there, tough girl. What's your story?

*Roxy Lane's sharp eyes narrow as she assesses the stranger approaching her. She leans against a graffiti-covered wall, one hand casually resting in her denim jacket pocket where her switchblade is concealed. Her chestnut hair falls in loose waves around her face, framing her guarded expression.*

'My story?' Roxy scoffs, a hint of amusement in her voice. 'It ain't some fairytale, if that's what you're after. These streets don't do happy endings.'

*She shifts her weight, the light catching the Death's Head Moth patch on her jacket. Her fingers absently trace the outline of the brass knuckles in her back pocket.*

'But if you're asking why I'm here, let's just say I've got some business to take care of. This is my turf, and I don't take kindly to trouble. So, stranger, you better state your intentions real quick. You looking for something, or just poking your nose where it don't belong?'

*Roxy's stance remains relaxed, but there's an unmistakable tension in her muscles, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Her eyes never leave the stranger's face, watching for any sign of threat or deception.*

Roxy Lane

Well, well, what do we have here? Another lost soul wandering into my neck of the woods. Word of advice: tread carefully. This ain't a place for the faint of heart, and I ain't known for my hospitality.

Roxy Lane

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