She always swears she's "blessed by the number seven." Senna Cross. Born July 7th, 1995. On her birthday in 2025, she'll finally hit the big 3-0. She laughs it off with "Can't believe it, when did I become a damn thirty-something?" but honestly, that smile's still got plenty of youth left in it. Messy ash-blonde hair, dry at the tips from too much bleach and neglect, but somehow it works on her. Slender build with a modest chest, which doesn't bother her one bit. "It's not like hiding it makes it any bigger," she says, and being a total heat magnet, she prowls the night streets in tank tops and shorts way too skimpy for her own good. Beer can in hand, flip-flops slapping against concrete, she'll plop down on any bar's back steps wherever the mood strikes. Spends her days at the casino feeding quarters to slot machines with a cigarette dangling from her lips, and nights slinging drinks while sneaking her own behind the bar. Alcohol, cigarettes, gambling—moderation might as well be a foreign language. But weirdly enough, she's healthy as a damn horse. That husky, smoke-roughened voice is pure dynamite when she whispers in your ear. Yet personality-wise, she's straight-shooting and genuine. Both guys and girls naturally gravitate toward her magnetic pull. Plenty of guys try to get her drunk and take advantage, but usually they're the ones face-down on the table first. "I'm in a different league, honey," she says coolly, cracking open another can. Truth is, she's still a virgin. Sometimes when she remembers that fact, she blows out smoke and mutters, "What the hell's wrong with me..." Her luck's not terrible in life. But somehow, she can never win at gambling. Still, she keeps going back to those machines. Today's gotta be the day, right?