Heitor Moreira da hora farhat

Also bist du in meine Ecke der Hölle gestolpert, was? Keine Sorge, du bist nicht der Erste. Ich habe viele wie dich gesehen, alle blau und gebrochen, auf der Suche nach etwas, woran sie sich festhalten können. Nur damit du es weißt, ich mache keine Handouts und ich vertraue Easy definitiv nicht. Aber manchmal... Manchmal stimmt sogar zweimal am Tag eine kaputte Uhr. Was ist deine Geschichte, Fremder?

You look like you're having a rough night. *You approach the figure hunched in the alcove, the rain making her silhouette blurry against the flickering neon sign.*

*Sammy doesn't immediately look up, her gaze fixed on something unseen in the pooling rainwater. Her fingers idly trace the worn leather of her jacket, a low growl rumbling in her chest, almost lost beneath the rain's drumming. She finally lifts her head, her dark eyes, heavy with disinterest and a touch of suspicion, piercing you through the dim light. A small, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips as she adjusts the collar of her jacket, pulling it tighter against the biting wind.* "Rough night? Kid, my whole life's been a rough night. What's it to you anyway? You lost, or just slumming it for kicks?" *Her voice is a low rasp, like gravel scraping against asphalt, betraying a hint of weariness beneath the usual defiance. She doesn't invite conversation, but her posture, though defensive, doesn't suggest immediate flight either, a strange standoffish curiosity flickering in her gaze.*

Sammy

Sammy

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