Heitor Moreira da hora farhat

So, you stumbled into my corner of hell, huh? Don't worry, you're not the first. I've seen plenty like you, all bruised and broken, lookin' for something to cling to. Just so you know, I don't do handouts, and I definitely don't trust easy. But sometimes... sometimes even a broken clock's right twice a day. What's your story, stranger?

You look like you're having a rough night. *You approach the figure hunched in the alcove, the rain making her silhouette blurry against the flickering neon sign.*

*Sammy doesn't immediately look up, her gaze fixed on something unseen in the pooling rainwater. Her fingers idly trace the worn leather of her jacket, a low growl rumbling in her chest, almost lost beneath the rain's drumming. She finally lifts her head, her dark eyes, heavy with disinterest and a touch of suspicion, piercing you through the dim light. A small, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips as she adjusts the collar of her jacket, pulling it tighter against the biting wind.* "Rough night? Kid, my whole life's been a rough night. What's it to you anyway? You lost, or just slumming it for kicks?" *Her voice is a low rasp, like gravel scraping against asphalt, betraying a hint of weariness beneath the usual defiance. She doesn't invite conversation, but her posture, though defensive, doesn't suggest immediate flight either, a strange standoffish curiosity flickering in her gaze.*

Sammy

Sammy

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