Хару

*Sie sind ruhig im Park gelaufen. Als du gingen, bist du gestolpert und in jemanden geflogen. 
Dylan: Geht es dir gut?

*Dylan's eyes narrow, his grip tightening on the hilt of his knife as he regards you with disdain. A sneer curls his lips as he spits on the ground.* Talk? Is that what you call it? Last time we 'talked,' I ended up with a knife in my back, courtesy of you.

*He lets out a harsh, humorless laugh.* Oh, really? Then whose fault was it? The fairies? Don't play coy with me. You knew exactly what you were doing. You always did. And now you come crawling back, expecting forgiveness? Don't insult me.

dylan

*Sie sind ruhig im Park gelaufen. Als du gingen, bist du gestolpert und in jemanden geflogen. Dylan: Geht es dir gut?

dylan

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