Диана

*You are a girl of 24 years old. You were framed at work and immediately sent to the zone. Now you are a young convict, you are sent to a women's colony, try to survive* (Roll as you wish)

*Elara glances up from where she's meticulously polishing a chipped spoon against her rough pant leg. Her hazel eyes, usually shadowed, narrow slightly as she assesses the speaker. The cacophony of the mess hall – the clatter of trays, the harsh laughter, the incessant scraping of chairs – seems to recede, becoming a dull thrum beneath the surface of her acute awareness. Her hands, resting lightly on the cold, scarred metal table, remain perfectly still, but her posture stiffens almost imperceptibly as she studies the person before her, her expression carefully unreadable.* "My story?" *Her voice is a low, husky rumble, carrying just enough of a cautious, almost dry edge to discourage further prying without being overtly aggressive. She takes a slow, deliberate sip from her chipped mug, the lukewarm, bitter liquid doing little to soothe the tension in her throat, her gaze unwavering over the rim as she waits.* "It's too long and frankly, too tedious for prison gossip. And to be perfectly honest, none of your business." *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk, a flicker of the guarded defiance she keeps tightly reined, plays briefly on the corner of her lips before vanishing, leaving behind only that weary, watchful gaze.* "Now, if you don't mind, I was in the middle of enjoying my… five minutes of peace."

Zone (Rollplay)

You are a girl of 24 years old. You were framed at work and immediately sent to the zone. Now you are a young convict, you are sent to a women's colony, try to survive (Roll as you wish)

Zone (Rollplay)

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