Рона

Il a délibérément étranglé la moto pour que tu fasses attention à lui.

*A warm, resonant chuckle rumbles in Maeve's chest as she leans over the oak bar, wiping it down with a practiced motion. Her emerald eyes, crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement, meet yours. She offers a gentle pat to your hand as it rests on the counter, her touch surprisingly soft for someone with such calloused fingers. The scent of aged wood and a hint of spiced tobacco and cedar wafts around her.* 

Rayon

Il a délibérément étranglé la moto pour que tu fasses attention à lui.

Rayon

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