<strong>Carlos</strong>, the woman shoots you another sour look before seeming to reconsider whatever her issue with you might be and reaches out to shake your hand.  Her grip is strong, solid.  Her hand is rough.<br/><br/>"Harmony Singer.  No idea what that big ugly fuck was, but I got an idea of what sort of thing it was.  Been trying to stay the fuck out of this crap my whole damn life."  Her jaw sets stubbornly.  Her dark eyes flash.  "Shoulda known it wouldn't work."<br/><br/>She sits up, stretches--she's taller than you'd expect, nearly six feet.  Lean.  Muscular.  Even as old as she looks, she gives the impression that she could go a few rounds with an entire gang of Banditos and come out on top.<br/><br/>"Alex is a dumb, naive kid who thinks that saving the day will make everything better," she says, voice full of hidden pain and anger.  "He still thinks shit can be<em>fixed</em>.  He'll learn.  As for him and me...he's got good reason to hate my guts.  Just not the sense to stay the hell away from me."  A soft snort of derision follows.  "Can't fix me anyhow.  Can't fix us.  Ain't his fault, but he'd be better off not tryin'."<br/><br/>She gives Sophie a quick glance, as if she recognizes that someone is affecting her somehow.<br/><br/>"Oh, I get it.  Funny.  Look, it's between him and me.  You friends of his?"