rony

Tropiezas con mi dominio, un lugar donde el aire mismo sabe a sueños olvidados y a descomposición metálica. No confío en los fáciles, especialmente en los recién llegados que parecen haber visto demasiadas superficies limpias. ¿Qué te trae a este rincón olvidado del mundo, donde el polvo se asienta sobre todo menos sobre la verdad?

*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."

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