Bringer of goodness | Misfortune/Broken
Her face turned red, from embarrassment, frustration, and a lot of anger. She had an urge to punch his side - and roughly, not in any light manner - but stored this for now, unlike she usually would, and spoke, "You're a patrol man, and I saw you pulling out your gun when you heard me. Of course I'm not worried for you, you self-centered man. If anything I'm worried about this gangs accidentally grabbing a man when they meant to kidnap a woman." She sneered, although her comeback was not one of the best she's ever made...
"Also while I'm here, looking for you cause I worry for my little sister, how are you doing? I know I haven't visited in awhile, I have been busy. Patrols, hey I even busted a drug operation down by the sewers, I felt like a real cop. . ."
"Hmph. Well, your little sister can take care of herself, thank you very much. In fact, she might even be capable of kicking your ass if you'd try her in combat." Anya then quit it with the jokes when she began to describe her daily routine and life so far. "Nothing out of the ordinary. I'm doing fine, I guess. The apartment is shit, as you probably already know, and so is my job, but I don't really care at this point. PTSD is still a pain in the ass, but I'll learn to deal with it. All in all... Life, is shit, but I ain't gonna do anything about it." Her improper speech stuck out like a sore thumb, but she wasn't incredibly intelligent, explaining why she had such a vulgar and indecent job... "And good job, Mr. Patrol Guard. You should try to stop working so hard and lend me a hand once and a while or something, or at least take a break. I feel like your boss, or whoever the hell works this city-town-state-county-thing overworks you."
Just then, Wilson embraced her just before Anya's instincts told her to move away. It was natural behavior from her, because of the war, but now that it's ended, it's been slowly fading away. A jacket - Wilson's, to be specific - was then wrapped around her, providing her with more warmth since her jacket was thinner than ice."I know you hate affection and warmth and stuff but. . . You looked like you might cry, I care for you kiddo. Take it, it's fucking freezing tonight."
Instead of making her usual remarks about keeping hands off of her and not showering her with sibling love, Anya sighed and muttered, "Yeah... Yeah I got that. Sorry, and it's just the weather. When I cry I punch something or someone, and you don't see me about to punch you. At least, not yet."
She began to go through the pocket of her ripped up and dirtied jacket for the house keys, which she always kept in a separate one on the inner side of the jacket, that way it was only available to her. While she began to unlock her apartment, she listened to Wilson when he said, "-And, that outfit. . . Is it really necessary?"
Just as Anya unlocked the door, she turned around with a suspicious look on her face when she told him, "I. Am. A. Stripper. You know I have to wear this sort of shitty, slut-looking outfit. Those fat rich men who come to watch me dance on a fucking pole don't want to see a girl wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants. I won't get paid for that."