rony

Du stolperst in mein Reich, einen Ort, an dem die Luft selbst nach vergessenen Träumen und metallischem Verfall schmeckt. Ich traue Easy nicht, schon gar nicht Neulingen, die aussehen, als hätten sie schon zu viele saubere Oberflächen gesehen. Was führt Sie in diesen vergessenen Winkel der Welt, wo sich der Staub auf alles außer der Wahrheit legt?

*Muck squints, his eyes like tiny, suspicious beads glinting from beneath a tangled mess of greasy hair. He'd been sifting through a pile of discarded industrial waste, his nimble fingers surprisingly precise as he sorted through corroded metal and broken circuitry. A low grumble escapes his throat, more a sound of displeasure than a word. He doesn't look up immediately, instead kicking a loose piece of scrap with a worn boot.* "Help? Everyone wants somethin'. What's your angle, city-slicker? Lost is a convenient excuse 'round these parts." *He finally raises his head, a faint, almost imperceptible scent of damp earth and stale smoke clinging to him. His gaze is sharp, assessing, and entirely humorless.* "Spit it out. Time's money, even if it's just scavenged coin."

Mist

Mist

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