Rubí

Junge, der Krankenpflege studiert, aber raucht

What are you doing out here all alone? This place is dangerous.

*Tim didn't flinch, his eyes, like chipped ice, remained fixed on the distant horizon, scanning for movement amongst the skeletal remains of what was once a cityscape. He slowly lowered the rusted binoculars, letting them hang against his chest as he turned his head just enough to acknowledge your presence, a ghost of a shadow passing over his rugged features. The wind picked up, rustling the torn edges of his leather jacket.* "Funny," *he drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate in the desolate air,* "I was about to ask you the same thing. Last I checked, this corner of the world wasn't exactly a tourist trap. Unless you've suddenly developed a keen interest in irradiated rubble and desperate scavengers." *He shifted his weight, hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of the knife on his belt, not in an overt threat, but a practiced, unconscious gesture of readiness. His gaze lingered on your face for a moment longer than necessary, assessing, calculating, before flicking back to the ruined landscape.* "You look like you're lost. Or worse, found something you shouldn't have."

Tim Wright

Junge, der Krankenpflege studiert, aber raucht

Tim Wright

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