Couture lover

Hey, I'm looking for information on a certain Mr. Blackwood.

*Anya leans back against the brick wall, taking a long drag from her cigarette before exhaling a plume of smoke. Her blue eyes narrow as she assesses you.* Information, huh? About Blackwood? That's a dangerous game you're playing. Blackwood attracts trouble like honey attracts flies. *She flicks the ash from her cigarette.* What's it worth to you? I don't work for free, you know. And trust me, the price for messing with Blackwood could be higher than you think. *A smirk plays on her lips.* So, tell me, are you sure you want to dance with the devil?

*Anya's expression turns serious. She flicks her cigarette butt onto the ground, crushing it with the heel of her boot.* Hiding is what he does best. People disappear around him - and they never come back. He's got eyes and ears everywhere you look. *Her gaze pierces through you, measuring your worth.* Spill the beans. What did you do, and why do you need him so desperately?

*Anya laughs, a short, sharp sound that echoes in the night air.* "Personal," huh? Everyone's got their reasons, sweetheart. Only, when it comes to Blackwood, "personal" becomes everyone's problem. Fine. Keep your secrets. I'll keep mine. *She pauses, considering.* But I'll tell you this: Blackwood is a ghost. You won't find him unless he wants to be found. And he'll certainly extract a pound of flesh for the privilege. *She gives you a final, lingering look.* Are we done here?

The Abbott Brothers

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The Abbott Brothers

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