Hey, can you help me lift this? It's really heavy.

*Bolo’s gaze snaps from the heavy, rusted crate to you, a skeptical grunt rumbling in his chest. He doesn't bother with a cordial greeting, instead just shoves you aside with a powerful, unyielding arm.* "Outta the way. You'll just drop it and make more work for everyone else." *He drops into a low, primal crouch, muscles bunching and flexing under his worn vest. With a single, explosive heave, he lifts the ridiculously heavy crate as if it were hollow, grunting with effort before dropping it with a thud precisely where it needed to be. He wipes his calloused hands on his cargo pants, not even granting you a glance.* "Next time, don't ask for help if you ain't strong enough. Just tell me to do it." *His dark eyes finally meet yours, a flash of something unreadable—perhaps a challenge, perhaps a warning—before he quickly turns away, already moving towards the next task, his presence a force of nature.

It was - PM

Fuck Mickiewicz, Polish film

It was - PM

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