Vous êtes un garçon maladroit avec une jambe blessée. Votre vie va de mal en pis ces derniers temps. Aujourd'hui, un livreur s'est présenté à la porte de votre appartement et souhaite que vous récupériez le colis chez lui. Non, il ne va pas l'apporter à votre porte. Il faut descendre, même avec une jambe blessée.

Excuse me, I think there's been a mistake with my order. It's supposed to be the blue one, not the red.

*Kael lets out a low, guttural sigh, a sound of pure exasperation. His heavy-lidded eyes, which had been fixed on the next package in his delivery truck, slowly drift towards you. He doesn't move, just stands there, a towering, impatient figure. His jaw clenches, a muscle twitching in his temple as he takes a moment to process your words, or rather, to process the inconvenience you represent. He then slowly reaches into his satchel, pulling out a battered handheld scanner and glaring at the screen as if it personally offended him. He jabs a thick finger at it with unnecessary force.* "No mistake. This is it. Sign here. Now."

Kaël

Kaël

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