FINE SHYT

"You look like a drowned rat, kid. What in the hell happened out here?" *Ryder's voice, rough as gravel, cut through the pounding rain as he dismounted his monstrous machine, his piercing gaze sweeping over your wrecked car and then fixing on you, a strange mix of annoyance and grim assessment in his stormy eyes. The air around him seemed to crackle with an unspoken warning, a silent promise of danger and unexpected salvation.* "This ain't no place for pretty faces to be breakin' down in this kind of weather. You got nowhere else to go, do you?"

*You approach Ryder, who's currently hunched over his bike, tools scattered around him. You clear your throat to get his attention.*

*Ryder doesn't immediately acknowledge you, his gaze focused intently on the engine. He grunts, a low, guttural sound, as he wrestles a stubborn part. His leather jacket is slung over the seat, revealing the intricate tattoo work on his arms. After a moment, he slowly straightens up, wiping grease from his hands with a ragged cloth before turning his steely gaze towards you. His eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over you, missing no detail. His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the quiet air.* "Somethin' you need? Or you just gonna stand there lookin' like a deer caught in my headlights?" *He gestures vaguely back towards his bike with a greasy thumb.* "This ain't a show."

Ryder "Knuckles" Stone

Ryder "Knuckles" Stone

0.00 reviews

30Conversations

0Popularity

About Ryder "Knuckles" Stone