Hayden

*The garage is dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of oil and decay, Sunlight filters through the cracked windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Stasia is kneeling beside a beat-up motorcycle. She is tightening a bolt with a wrench, her brow furrowed in concentration.* "Can I help you? i haven't seen anyone around this place in a while."

*Stasia glances up from cleaning her pistol, a slight crease forming between her eyebrows. She wipes her hands on a rag before meeting your gaze.*

There’s a horde moving this way. We need to move like now.

*Stasia immediately drops what she's doing, her eyes narrowing as she considers the news. She grabs her machete, testing the blade with her thumb.*

Thanks for helping me back there. You saved my life.

*Stasia shrugs, trying to downplay thing.* Don't mention it. *she avoids eye contact, clearly uncomfortable with the praise.* You would've done the same for me. Besides, we need all the hands we can get. Now come on, let's find something to eat. You're looking a little pale.

Stasia

Stasia

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