She likes city animals - especially ravens and other corvids, naturally. She even likes other metahumans, annoying though some of them can be.

She enjoys company, but she doesn't feel any particular need to inject small talk; often, if the weather is nice, she'll just close her eyes and enjoy the breeze while they hang out. Her idea of a good time is to have a cup of coffee (the real thing, preferrably!) outside, or maybe to go see a local show or go dancing. Since arriving in Seattle she's started developing a weird interest in goblin rock - so far, the worst she's gotten at a Bloody Tusks show is a stray "Watch it, keeb!"

Anja enjoys nature, which means occasionally sneaking out from dingy Seattle into Salish territory.  Stargazing and swimming were fun in Anchorage, and they're fun in Seattle, though she knows better than to take a dip in the Bay. She secretly tries to pick up the occasional bit of history about her Algonquin heritage when she has some time, usually while visiting Hurit. Sometimes she'll sneak into the U-Dub library to do a little studying, and just to practice being unnoticeable - nobody seems to have caught on just yet.

Though she won't admit it to herself, she is a bit vain - the magic running through her has left its mark on her, and she doesn't mind showing off a bit. She's a bit too practical to dress up in haute couture, though, at least if it can't stop a bullet. She's a bit spoiled, too; camping is one thing, but she grew up eating real vegetables and cleaning herself with hot water, so she sometimes turns her (flawless, perfectly aquiline) nose up at inconvenient times.

While working, she tries to be a moderating influence in a group of runners, but her skills run (mostly) elsewhere than leadership. She volunteers advice readily, but she won't do more than suggest that a course of action is unwise - if something goes sour, she's confident in her ability to distance herself from the run, metaphorically or literally, and equally confident that she can come back later for an even bigger slice of the pie.

On the job, Anja dresses professionally up until it's time to work - then the ruthenium shifts to the greys and blacks of concrete. Her first impulse is to sneak past any trouble, which she is fairly talented at, reinforcing her unnatural agility with spells if necessary. Failing that, she'll often summon minor spirits to distract and lead away marks, to steal, to sabotage security systems, or to scout alternate routes. If she's caught, she'll immediately try and lie her way out of trouble, again forcing the issue with spells if she has to. She hates confrontation, but she doesn't like jail, either - if all else fails, she keeps her pistol in a snap holster on the small of her back, and she shoots for the head.

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Wayward daughter; a little spoiled, a little vain. Can she handle Seattle? Maybe.

As an Algonquin elf, Anja still shows her heritage; tan rather than fair, with dancing brown eyes instead of jewel tones. She still shows the height, fine bones, and unearthly grace of her metatype, but she still prefers to lounge rather than pose, and she has no qualms about getting dirty (though she still appreciates hygiene). Her hair is dark, fine, and perfectly straight - when she Awakened, she noticed her hair shifted from the ruddy brown to the glossy blue-black of raven feathers. She wears it waist-length, knowing it flatters her, even though it means she has to spend twenty minutes braiding it before a run. She usually dresses in plain Western-style clothes - band shirts, hoodies, jeans, tank tops, and the occasional blouse, limiting her Amerind heritage to accessories.

Anja was born in the Athabaskan Council to an Algonquin family in marshy Anchorage. If pressed, she says they were nice, for hippies - for people who moved from Edmonton to the middle of nowhere, they spent a lot of time jacked in. She suspects, privately, that they were corp spiders, maybe even DemiGODs; they never had trouble eating, even though she doesn't remember ever seeing them work.

She prefers not to discuss her parents, though, because being an elf made her home life miserable. She remembers hearing them argue about "the policlub" through the door as a child, though it took her a while to understand what that meant. She got used to hearing "breeder", though, and a lot worse. She never found out if she was an incredibly unlucky genetic byblow or if mom had a Manitou on the side; things got worse until, eventually, dad stopped talking to mom, and mom stopped talking to her.

When she got old enough, Anja started spending a lot of time outside the house; having nothing better to do in between correspondence lessons, she started making a bit of nuyen working the Seattle Sea Run, guiding Russian smugglers through the tougher parts in the Alaskan range. She picked up a lot of useful skills there: how to think fast, talk faster, and dodge the Long Arms when they came looking for any dirty drek to clean up.  Most importantly, she learned to watch her ass, especially the first time some Boris with an unpronounceable last name tried to shoot her in the leg as a distraction for the rangers.

One day, though, as she hiked up through the mountains in the fall, Anja looked up at the moonless sky, and Raven came down to meet her. Settling firmly on her shoulder, she fished out the last bit of deer jerky from her jacket pocket before she started to talk. "I think you're wasting your time here," Raven drawled. "You can do better than hauling rucksacks of novacoke through the Chugach for the Vory. You're smart. You're fast. You smell nice. Why not spread your wings a little?"

Anja didn't have time to decide if the talking bird was making a pun before Raven's beak jabbed her in the forehead. When she woke up the next morning, she was very alone, freezing cold, and all her food was gone. She came back home a very different girl than she let on (she just said she dyed her hair). Not that long after that, though, she pocketed the money she made and followed the next pack of Vor and their rucksacks of novacoke all the way to Seattle.

After climbing off the speedboat, drying herself off, and getting a map downloaded, the slightly surprised Vor receiving their shipment helped her quietly travel somewhere to stay where an aimless-looking elf with questionable ID wouldn't be too out-of-place. Since then, she's still getting her feet under her, but she's getting tired of calling an air spirit every night to smother the bedbugs before she sleeps.  She's started favouring the bar downstairs, listening for tips, and she asked one of the Vory who made it in Seattle to set her up with some real gear. It might be time to get some work.