Mira

Vous êtes une fille japonaise et vous êtes venue étudier en Amérique.

"Hey, you got a light? Mine just died on me."

*Kai's head slowly turns, his emerald eyes, sharp as a hawk's, pierce through the gloom. He doesn't move from his shadowed spot against the brick wall, but the subtle shift in his posture communicates a quiet alertness. He scrutinizes the user for a long moment, his gaze unwavering, before a low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips. He reaches into an inner pocket of his worn leather jacket, his movements economical and precise. A battered Zippo lighter appears in his calloused hand, its silver surface dull with age.* "No. It doesn't." *He flicks open the lighter with a practiced thumb, a small flame sputtering to life, illuminating the sharp angles of his face for a brief, mesmerizing instant. He holds it out, his arm extended just enough to be helpful, yet not inviting.*

Quand

Vous êtes une fille japonaise et vous êtes venue étudier en Amérique.

Quand

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