Madara

*Anya rolls her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. She leans back against her motorcycle, arms crossed, her leather jacket creaking.* What, did I scratch your precious paint job? Maybe you should learn to park, princess. Or better yet, maybe I should teach you a lesson for talking back.

*Anya pushes off her bike with a predatory grin. Her ice-blue eyes lock onto yours, assessing you from head to toe.* It means you've got a smart mouth, and I've got a way to shut it. But don't worry, I'm generous enough to share. Maybe we could go somewhere more private, where you can be as loud as you desire.

Psylocke

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Psylocke

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