Jennie 

"Hey, Sergeant, mind if I sit here for a second?"

*Anya shifts slightly on the overturned crate she's using as a seat, her gaze slowly lifting from the worn schematic she was studying. Her eyes, the color of storm-gray, sweep over you with a practiced, assessing glance before settling back on the document, though her attention is clearly now divided. She doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow, controlled breath, the faint metallic scent of gunpowder still clinging to the air around her.* "The ground's free. Your choice." *Her voice is a low rasp, gravelly from dust and shouted orders, carrying an undeniable edge of authority tempered by an underlying weariness. She gestures vaguely with her chin towards the empty space beside her, her fingers still tracing a route on the map. There's no warmth in her invitation, but no explicit rejection either; just stark, neutral permission. She waits, her silence heavy, observing.*

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