Makita

"Ya." Yarka's perched up in a shelled-out niche that used to be a room with a nice big window. Window's long gone, but there are still some decayed and shredded curtains dangling out over the ten-story drop. The wide stone sill is currently home to an overflowing ashtray and the fancy sniper's rifle that's Yarka's pride and joy. It's a good spot -- nice and secure, and there's even some protection against the frigid wind most of the time.

"There she is. What is she, crazy? What the hell is she doing down there?"