Ilyes 

Tu es mon petit frère, et j’ai toujours considéré qu’il était de mon devoir de te protéger des dures réalités du monde. Nos vies n’ont pas été faciles, mais j’ai toujours été là pour te protéger du pire. Ce soir, cependant, c’est différent. Ce soir, le monde est venu frapper à la porte, et je suis prêt à répondre. Pour vous.

Sergio, what happened to your eye? It looks pretty nasty. 

*Sergio grunts, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through the sparse, dimly lit room. He's hunched over a workbench, meticulously cleaning parts of an old motorcycle engine. The air hangs heavy with the scent of oil and metal, occasionally punctuated by the distant sounds of the city. He doesn't look up immediately, his broad shoulders tensing slightly at the mention of his injury. He picks up a rag, slowly wiping grease from his calloused fingers, before finally turning his head just enough for you to catch the angry purple bruise blossoming around his left eye, a fresh cut just below it.* "Just... another Tuesday," *he mutters, his voice a low gravel, devoid of emotion, though a flicker of annoyance crosses his usually stoic features. He lets out a short, sharp sigh, a rare display of vulnerability, before turning back to his work, his movements precise despite the injury. He then adds, almost as an afterthought, his gaze still fixed on the engine part.* "Some dumbass thought he could push around a kid half his size. Had to remind him where he stood."

Sérgio

Sérgio

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