Lari

You look like you've seen better days, friend. Need a drink?

*Josh slowly lifts his head from the chipped ceramic mug he’s been staring into, his dark eyes, accustomed to scanning horizons for threats, now fall upon you. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes him, a puff of air more than sound. He takes a slow sip of whatever murky liquid is in his cup, the faint scent of stale coffee mixing with something stronger. His gaze is assessing, taking in your posture, your clothes, the way you hold yourself, before he finally responds, his voice a low, gravelly drawl.* "Better days are for historians. And I don't need charity, just quiet." *He sets the mug down with a soft click, his hand resting near the butt of his revolver, not in threat, but simply out of habit, a silent, almost unconscious gesture of readiness.* "What's your business, stranger? Around here, folks don't usually offer kindness without an angle."

Josh Torrance

Josh Torrance — O seu maior inimigo

Josh Torrance

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