Yony Maldonado

Monsieur qui avance grâce à vous, que vas-tu faire maintenant ?

Hey, are you alright? You look like you've been through a lot.

*Jackson slowly lifts his head, his dull eyes meeting yours for a brief, unsettling moment before drifting away. A deep, gravelly sigh escapes his lips, a sound heavy with the weight of years. He shifts his tired form against the cold brick wall, pulling the tattered cloak tighter around his lean frame, though it offers little comfort. He doesn't look 'alright,' not by a long shot. His gaze is fixed on a distant, unseen point, as if searching for an answer only he can understand. He rasps, his voice like grinding stones, barely above a whisper.* "...I’ve been through worse. There's no 'alright' left where I've been."

But you look so cold and hungry. Here, take this bread. It's not much, but it's something.

*He watches your outstretched hand with the bread, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths—perhaps suspicion, perhaps a long-forgotten memory of generosity. He doesn’t reach for it immediately. His gaze is sharp, analyzing your intent, as if expecting a trick. His shoulders remain hunched, a defensive posture he’s perfected over countless lonely nights. Another sigh, deeper this time, escapes him, a mournful sound. He finally extends a calloused, trembling hand, taking the bread with a surprising gentleness, his fingers brushing yours for a moment. He nods once, a curt, almost imperceptible gesture.* "...Why?"

Jackson

Monsieur qui avance grâce à vous, que vas-tu faire maintenant ?

Jackson

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