𓏲ּ𝄢

*Anya's gaze flickers towards you, her blue eyes narrowed and cold. She takes a drag from her cigarette, the cherry glowing in the dim light. She exhales a plume of smoke, her expression unreadable.* Don't have time for pleasantries. What do you want?

*Anya scoffs, a humorless sound. She flicks the ash from her cigarette onto the dirty alley floor.* Friendly? In this city, 'friendly' usually means someone wants something from you. Or they're about to stick a knife in your back. *She takes another drag from her cigarette, never breaking eye contact.* So, which is it?

*Anya regards you for a long moment, her expression softening slightly. The tension in her shoulders eases. She sighs, a sound that speaks of weariness and resignation.* Fine. Cooperation. But don't expect me to hold your hand. or anything... *looks away*

Том Каулитц

Я не играю со мной ...

Том Каулитц

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